Crimes of Passion

by Toni Anderson

  “The lady visitor?”

  A cautious look came over the maid’s face as she met Anne’s narrowed gaze. “‘Course I might have just missed seeing it. I can take it to Lost and Found.”

  Anne’s worst suspicions were confirmed. She forced a smile. “Oh, I know. It must belong to the reporter. A woman was supposed to interview my husband this morning.”

  “That’ll be it,” the girl said with a wide smile of relief. “I was working the other side of this floor and saw her get off the elevator. I remember she had the scarf around her neck. She must have pulled it off and forgot it.”

  “Yes, I’ll see she gets it back. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Gallant.”

  The maid left the room, but she gave Anne a quick backward glance just before the door closed behind her.

  There was no reporter. Anne knew it, and the maid knew it. Hotel personnel always knew when there was something sneaky going on. There had been a woman with Edison here in their hotel suite after Anne had left. The question was: Who was she? And what, exactly, had she been doing there with Edison?

  Edison arrived back at the hotel from his own luncheon a half hour later. Anne was lying down. She swung her feet off the bed when she heard his key in the door. The silk scarf was lying spread out over one of the chairs in the living room. She picked it up as she entered the room and, holding it tented between two fingers, went to meet him.

  “Your guest left this,” she said, and gave him a chill smile. “Don’t you think entertaining women in your hotel room is ill-advised under the circumstances?”

  Edison made no attempt to take the scarf. Anne let it drop, and it fluttered gently downward to lie over the polished toes of his shoes. He looked down at it, then at his wife.

  “It isn’t what you think.”

  “Isn’t it? You will remember that I’m a fair detective since you made me that way. There are damp spots on the sofa. So what is it, Edison? What is it this time?” Her voice rose as she spoke. She could hear the strident accusation in it, but she couldn’t help it. There had been too many other times, too many other women.

  “The woman who was here was Riva Staulet’s sister, Margaret. She came to tell me that Riva’s out to get me.”

  Anne stared at him. The excuse was so unexpected, so unlike anything he had ever tried, that it was long seconds before she could assimilate what he had said. “Riva Staulet? Why in the world would she do that?”

  “I knew her once, a long time ago.”

  “So?” Dante had suggested as much. She should have known he was right.

  Edison stepped around her, shrugging out of his coat. He loosened his tie and slipped it free, throwing it over a chair arm on his way to the credenza where the tray of bottles sat. Anne watched as he mixed himself a stiff drink. She knew he was stalling, giving himself time to think. She held on to her patience with an effort.

  “I may as well tell you,” he said as he turned. “Years ago we…had a thing going for a while, Riva and I. She got pregnant. I just found out today that I have a daughter. Erin.”

  “Erin? You mean Erin in your office, the girl Josh…” Her voice sounded stupefied. That was because she was.

  “Exactly. Riva Staulet wants them separated. She sent her sister to give me an ultimatum.”

  “Did she, now? Of what kind?”

  “I must get Josh out of New Orleans, send him to one of the north Louisiana campaign offices, or she’ll make the whole thing public.”

  “For pity’s sake, send him then!”

  “And let her think she can push me around? Not on your life!” His words were rough with anger. He drained his drink in a few swallows and turned to pour another.

  “But we can’t let Josh go on with Erin. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Screw right. It’s boy-girl stuff between them, nothing to worry about.”

  “You don’t know that!” As he only shrugged by way of an answer, Anne went on, thinking out loud. “Anyway, what else can you do? You don’t want a scandal.”

  “Neither does she,” he said as he turned once more. “It’s all a bluff, nothing to worry about. Darling Riva has just as much to lose as I do, maybe more.”

  There was something in his words that didn’t ring true. Hard experience told Anne it was best to look deeper. A memory stirred, surfaced in her mind. “I don’t think today is the first time you’ve heard of this. It’s what Riva Staulet wanted to talk to you about at the rally, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t deny it, though he looked down into his glass as he spoke. “Then it was a suggestion. Now it’s a threat.”

  “A threat. Through her sister.”

  “She’s a devious bitch.”

  “If that’s true, what makes you think she won’t find a way to cause trouble without harming herself?”

  “There are other ways I can handle it if she wants to get ugly.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Erin thinks Riva’s her aunt. Riva must want it to stay that way.”

  “And you could suggest that you might enlighten Erin. What if it doesn’t work?”

  “Let’s just say I have friends in high places.”

  “The media?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It won’t happen.”

  His answer was an evasion, but she knew it would do no good to pursue it. Anyway, she had other things on her mind. “So it was a threat? That doesn’t explain the damp spots.”

  “Actually, I think it was Margaret’s idea to come. She always did have a yen for me, and I needed her on my side.”

  Anne had seen Margaret only once or twice during the years of her marriage, but she knew well enough that she was the wife of one of Edison’s cousins. She had noticed her at the ball at the old mint, a woman past her first youth, almost matronly. The thought of her with Edison did nothing for her own self esteem. “So you made love to her.”

  “That’s what she came for.”

  “You bastard!” Anne said through clenched teeth.

  He set his drink down with a crash. “What’s the matter with you? You asked me and I told you!”

  “How can you stand there and say something like that to me? I’m your wife! Don’t you know I have feelings?”

  “If you have so much feeling, why did you keep on about it? I think you like hearing it. I think it gives you a charge. I bet if I took you to bed right now, you’d be hot and ready.”

  “You’re revolting.”

  “So you say, but you keep hanging around.”

  “I may surprise you one day!” Anne flung the words at him in bitterness that was directed as much at herself as at him.

  “Oh, sure,” he sneered. “I’ve heard that before, too.”

  “One day you’ll push me too far.”

  He snorted. “You like being a famous man’s wife too much.”

  She shook her head. Her voice trembling, she said, “That’s not it, you know. What I like is the feeling of honoring my obligations. But I might decide to try another man just to see if I like how that feels.”

  He was upon her in an instant, shoving her against the wall with his hands clenched with bruising force on her arms. “Try it, and you won’t like what I do about it.”

  Her back was burning and her arms ached, but she stared into his eyes without flinching. “Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said in compressed tones. “But I’m not like you. I wouldn’t want you to know, so I’d be certain you never found out.”

  “Have you ever?” he asked, his voice rasping as he pressed her harder against the wall. “Have you?”

  “No, never,” she whispered. “I’ve never had any man but you. Yet.”

  His face twisted. “I’m warning you, I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got meetings all day tomorrow, then I have to be in Shreveport the day after and over the weekend to clinch the Times endorsement. I’m taking Josh up there with me, but I don’t need you. You can stay here and take care of this end
because we’ll be back, both of us. The reason we’ll be back is, I don’t take well to threats from women—not Riva, not Margaret, and not you. You give me any trouble, do anything to hurt me in this campaign, and you’ll be one sorry bitch, nearly as sorry as darling Riva!”

  He let her go with a wrench that flung her halfway across the room. Anne rubbed her arms as she looked at him but made no answer. Somehow she had lost all need to cry.

  The following morning, Edison had a breakfast meeting scheduled with a congressman. Anne dressed in a leisurely fashion while he was getting ready, but the instant he left the hotel, she went to the phone. She dialed a number she had dug out of her handbag, one she had never thought she would use. Her heart was beating so hard the collar of her dress fluttered as she waited for the phone on the other end to ring.

  Dante’s voice was sleep-husky but rich and warm as he answered. In the background she could hear the squawking and whistling of his parrot. Her throat closed so that she could not make a sound.

  “Hello?” he said again.

  Anne swallowed hard. “This—this is Anne Gallant.”

  “Anne, how are you?”

  She could hear the surprise in his voice. She couldn’t blame him; she herself couldn’t believe that she was calling him. “I’m fine. I just…I wondered if I could see you. There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

  “Sure. What did you have in mind? Lunch?”

  “I have some shopping to do. I thought I might go to Canal Place or else the Riverwalk. Maybe we could have a cup of coffee or a drink somewhere nearby?”

  “There are several places at the Riverwalk. I’ll meet you at the fountain in the plaza, say, around eleven? Is that all right?”

  “Fine.” she said, then repeated quietly to herself after she had hung up, “Fine.”

  She had not told a lie. She did need to shop for a dress for a special garden wedding. She found nothing at Canal Place, however, not even at Saks. Everything was either too short or too long, too fancy or too plain, too bright or too pale, too chic and dramatic or too young and utterly romantic. It was possible the fault lay with herself. She couldn’t keep her mind on what she was doing, didn’t really feel like looking at clothes. She wandered here and there, up and down, in and out over the shopping center, in the process declining the help of innumerable saleswomen. It was a tiring way to wait for eleven o’clock.

  She was early at the Riverwalk. She passed under the gold lettering of the great entrance sign set in its white ironwork that proclaimed the shopping area built where the World’s Fair of ‘84 had been held. Making her way across the plaza with its geometric mosaic floor of cream and rust and gray, she found a place on a bench with a view of the wide Mississippi River. She watched the towering jets of water in the great round basin of the fountain and the tourists who grouped themselves in front of it to have their pictures taken. The white of the excursion steamers that sat waiting to depart from this point was blinding in the sun, while the gray smoke of their engines smudged the blue of the sky. That the smoke came from diesel engines instead of the wood-burning furnaces that once graced the steamboats that landed here made little difference; it was still a spectacle.

  “You look comfortable.”

  She turned her head to squint up at Dante, and unconsciously her mouth curved in a smile of welcome. “It’s an illusion, I’m melting.”

  “I should have told you I’d meet you inside,” he said with a rueful grin.

  “Not to worry. I was enjoying the view.”

  “Next to Jackson Square, this is my favorite spot, but it’s a lot easier to appreciate in the spring and fall. Shall we?” He indicated the glass-fronted entrance into the Riverwalk shopping area. She rose and walked beside him toward the doors with their steamboat motif picked out in gold.

  He held the heavy glass panel for her to enter. The action was not one of superiority or even a meaningless courtesy, but rather a gesture of protective concern. Anne sent him a covert look. There emanated from this man such a sense of caring that she had to wonder if it was just for her or for everyone. She was also forced to consider that the feeling might only be in her mind, a form of wishful thinking.

  He was casually dressed in khaki pants and Top-Siders deck shoes with a green polo shirt. Her own camp shirt and khaki skirt were a close match for this outing, unlike the time before. The discovery gave her a nice feeling, as if they were a couple, though the feeling was quickly followed by a grimace. It had been a long time since she had been juvenile enough for such things to matter.

  The mall was crowded, though most of the people seemed to be tourists or teenagers. “Did you say you come here often?” Anne asked as they navigated around the flowing streams of people.

  “Now and again. There are some quality shops. Did you find what you were looking for this morning?”

  “Not really.” She went on to explain the problem.

  “Did you try Yvonne la Fleur’s?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not what but who. This way,” he said, and guided her into the shop they were just passing.

  It was like stepping into a Victorian hatbox. It smelled deliciously of violet perfume and was strewn with that signature flower, while summery creations of antique lace, muted watercolor florals, bridal white, and soft halftone solids were draped here and there, along with a few elegantly feminine and richly colored suits. Then there were the hats, every one elegantly creative and wildly becoming to the female face, and yet, with their wide brims and softly alluring trim, reminiscent of a royal garden party. No two items were alike, and each was proudly labeled as an Yvonne la Fleur original.

  Anne was drawn at once to a dress of pale lavender lawn embroidered with delicate sprays of lilac and a matching hat of dyed straw with silk lilacs curling around the crown. The ensemble was totally unlike anything she had ever owned or thought of owning; still, she liked it.

  “Try it on,” Dante urged. “I’m a great believer in first impressions.”

  The dress softened her features, making her look younger. The fit was perfect, the workmanship exquisite. The hat added an undeniable something extra. The price on the tag was fairly high but not unreasonable for an original design. She could see in the dressing-room mirror, however, that it was an ensemble with a definite feeling of romance, and she was suddenly shy of herself in it.

  “Come out and let us see!” Dante called, and the saleswoman echoed his request.

  Anne realized with a sense of wonder that she had never been shopping with a man who was interested in how she looked. Edison’s sole concern was usually for how long he was kept standing around. He was embarrassed by women’s shops and thought she looked all right so long as she never wore anything that might call attention to herself. If she asked for an opinion, she usually got a shrug or a brutally frank comment on her shape or her taste.

  “You look wonderful,” Dante said.

  She smiled at him over her shoulder as she slowly turned for his inspection. “You think it would be all right for a garden wedding?”

  “Perfect. The only danger, chère, is that you may outshine the bride.”

  “Sheer flattery, but I love it,” she answered, and was able to keep her tone light because she recognized the real admiration in his eyes.

  Dante carried the dress on its hanger from the shop while Anne swung the hatbox from its cord. She caught sight of the two of them reflected in the glass of the display window. They looked so happy. And so intimate.

  A chill moved through her. What an imbecile she was. This was how people got caught in their infidelities, by allowing the pleasure of the moment to overcome prudence. She hadn’t quite realized how public the River-walk was, how central to the city, but once she knew, she should have insisted on going somewhere else. She should do just that right now.

  But how could she make such a request without having it seem as if this meeting were some clandestine rendezvous? The last thing she wanted was for Dante Romoli to get the i
dea that she expected more from him than fashion advice and friendship. Wasn’t it?

  “About that coffee?” she said.

  “We could have lunch. It’s beginning to be that time now.”

  He meant after the delay caused by her shopping. “All right.”

  Something in her manner must have alerted him to her discomfort. “I don’t think some dim corner in a place with a bar would be a good idea. What do you say to simple but good seafood and a table overlooking the river?”

  Her answer was a smile edged with relief.

  They went to Mike Anderson’s on the Bon Fête level. It was fast food with a long line and plastic bowls, but the servings were generous and the smell delicious. They took their trays outside on the deck. There was a magnificent view of the river, an overhang for shade, and a cool breeze off the water, but, best of all, the tables were scattered and undiscovered by most of the crowd. They dug into their crawfish gumbo and étouffée, crumbled their crackers to feed the red-legged pigeons that fluttered about, and watched the slow glide of river traffic: the tugboats, ferries, and freighters.

  At last Anne sat back in her chair. With her gaze on the cup of lemonade she held in her hand, she said, “You must be wondering what the urgency was this morning. I don’t mean to be mysterious; it’s just that I don’t really know how to start.”

  Dante used his napkin, then crumpled it and tossed it into his empty bowl. “Let me help you. It’s something about Riva.”

  “How did you know?” She searched his face with quick concern.

  “It seems logical. I know she has a problem, and I’m fairly sure it concerns your husband. I was there, you will remember, that day at the rally when they went off together, besides which I’ve known Riva for a long time. I can guess at what’s going on, but that isn’t like knowing. If you can shed some light on the subject, I’ll be grateful.”

  “I had thought you might help me understand,” she said with some asperity.

  “Could be we can help each other.”

  Was there something more behind his words? Anne could not tell from the expression in his dark eyes. They seemed to harbor sympathy and concern, but it could have been no more than a refraction of the bright light. Pushing her cup away from her with a gesture of finality, she began to tell him what Edison had said about Riva Staulet, his child, Erin, and the threat Riva had made.