Crimes of Passion

by Toni Anderson

  “What are you talking about?” The words were brave, but the look in her eyes was bleak.

  “I think you can guess, but never mind. You go see Josh, then I want your ass back here. We’re not through by a long shot.”

  She straightened, smoothed her hair. Looking around, she found her purse beside the chair and retrieved it, slinging the strap over her shoulder. She turned toward the door, then, with her hand on the knob, turned back. “Is that loverlike request supposed to make me want to stay with you and continue with this marriage?”

  “It’s supposed to let you know where you stand, which is right beside me all the way.”

  “Strange, I didn’t hear it like that. Do you know, people like me seldom say what we mean, what we really think. Everything is said pleasantly to hide the ugliness. Or else it’s smoothed over to avoid trouble, to make living easier, nicer. But it’s always there under the surface. I’m tired of living with what’s under the surface, Edison.”

  “You’re my wife, and that’s that.”

  “Even with my halo so tarnished?” The words were mocking.

  “We’ll go into that later.”

  “I am to repent then? Sorry but I’m not in the mood. This marriage, if you can call it that, is over.”

  “You won’t leave me and the prospect of being the governor’s lady, not for some dago who owns a drug-ridden eating-and-drinking joint.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t stay for a shallow, egoistical man who can’t control his temper, his desires, or even his own orgasms.”

  “You’ll be back,” he said, knotting his fist and raising it toward her. She didn’t answer. She went out, quietly closing the door behind her.

  Edison seethed with the sense of ill-usage inside him. Someone had tried to kill him, his son was lying half dead in the hospital, and his cold cunt of a wife had suddenly found somebody to heat her up. His career was in jeopardy because of this plane crash and the way the public was going to react to his competence at the controls. And if that weren’t enough, his wife was threatening to make a laughingstock of him, plus finish him off at the polls by leaving him.

  He glanced at his watch, then threw himself down on the couch and reached for the remote control fastened to the nearest end table. The news was on. There was a political story from Washington, then his own face leaped off the screen at him. Plane crash—bad weather—approach to the runway too low. There was a shot of the wreckage that sent a shiver running along Edison’s spine as he wondered how anyone could have gotten out alive, much less two people. Then there he was hurrying into the hospital as the stretcher carrying Josh was wheeled inside. God, but he looked wild, shaky as all hell. He couldn’t even remember the cameras being there. If he had realized, he’d have played it cooler. The female commentator oozed sympathy, but that changed as she began to talk about the possibility of an investigation into the crash.

  An investigation! He had to think. Somebody was going to find out about the automatic pilot. What then? Could the fact that it had been tampered with be turned to his advantage, used to create voter sympathy? Or would the search for a reason lead to questions he didn’t want, questions that might just open up the barrel of snakes he had been trying to keep a lid on for so long?

  As the picture on the screen switched to scenes of the damage from a tornado in east Texas, he snapped off the TV. God, he was sweating. He didn’t like it. He rubbed his hands together to get rid of the moisture on his palms. He clenched a fist, then opened it, looked at it.

  He shouldn’t have hit Anne. Not that she didn’t deserve it; it just hadn’t been smart. He needed her, needed the façade she presented. Everything had to look nice and normal. But who would have dreamed she would find another man? How could she do that to him? And threatening to leave him now, in the middle of the campaign. He couldn’t believe it. And the man she chose, that dago Dante, Riva’s friend. His wife had stolen Riva’s man. What a laugh!

  Or was it? Suppose it was Dante who had made the move on Anne? Suppose Riva had put him up to it? That had to be it. Anne never would have stepped out of place otherwise. And it would be just like Riva, the conniving bitch. She was the cause of his troubles, all of them. If it wasn’t for her, he’d have been home free all those years ago. But no, she had to be there. She was always there, getting in his way, seeing what she ought not see, messing up his mind, threatening him.

  He had thought he had that settled. It was one reason he went out of town, so as to be far from the scene. He had waited all weekend, but there had been nothing on the tube about an accident involving Riva, not a damn thing. Just went to show you couldn’t trust anybody.

  But wait. What if Riva had found out? What if she had not only put a stop to what he had arranged for her but had turned it against him? God, that was scary. She had nearly killed him. Who would have thought she had those kinds of connections, that kind of guts? She was a deep one; there had always been more there than he could figure, even when she was a kid.

  Edison settled back on the sofa. He had to think about this thing. He had to think about just what he was going to do. He couldn’t just leave it alone. Not now. Besides, he still wanted her ass. God, how he wanted her ass.

  TWENTY

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

  It was a cry of pain. Erin was on her feet in an instant with shimmering tears rising in her eyes. Doug Gorsline, who had been sitting across from her as they played a quiet game of gin rummy, stood also. His thin young face was dark with concern as his gaze rested on Erin.

  “I would have if I had known,” Riva said quietly. “The crash happened earlier, but Liz only just heard it on the news in the kitchen and came to tell me.”

  That was not the whole truth. Edison had called, but he had sounded so strung-out and been so abusive that Abraham had told him Riva was not at home. Since he had shouted something about a plane crash, the butler had gone to the kitchen to turn on the small TV Liz used to keep up with her favorite programs while she cooked. It was Liz who had hurried at once to tell Riva what had taken place, leaving Abraham still dithering about whether to disturb her or not over the call.

  “Josh, what about Josh?” Erin asked.

  “He’s at Oshner’s. They gave his condition as guarded, whatever that may mean.”

  “I’ve got to go to him, see him. Do you think they’ll let me in?” Erin’s gaze as she looked at Riva was trusting, expectant, as if she thought the woman she knew as her aunt must have all the answers.

  “I don’t know. I imagine it depends on—on how bad he is. But there’s really nothing you can do.”

  “I have to try, anyway.”

  “Are you sure? Even if you can see him, it will be for a few seconds at the most. From the sound of it, I doubt he’ll be able to talk to you. We can call and find out his condition, if that’s what you want.”

  Riva didn’t care for the idea of Erin being around Edison just now. He was sure to be at the hospital, and if he was as wild as Abraham had indicated that he sounded on the phone, then there was no way to guess what he might do, what he might say. Moreover, if, as she suspected, it was he who had tried to have her kidnapped or killed, once he learned the attempt had failed he might try to strike at her again through Erin.

  “No, I want to go,” the girl insisted, her voice rising. “I want to be there.”

  “I really don’t think you should drive since you’re this upset, and the limousine is in no shape for use.” Riva had no right to forbid her daughter to go, though she wished she did. More than likely, it would have done no good; Erin was too old for such tactics, and too independent, like her mother.

  “I’ll drive her,” Doug said.

  “Oh, would you?” Erin said, turning to him and putting out her hand to take his in a blind gesture of thanks. “That’s great. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Ready when you are,” he answered.

  If there was any jealousy for her concern about another man in Doug’s mind, he was
good at keeping it from his face, Riva thought. “I’m sure you have the best of intentions, Doug, but I doubt Josh’s parents will be happy at the arrival of a newspaper photographer.”

  “Then I won’t go as one. I’ll lock my camera in the car, scout’s honor.”

  “I can’t see how it will matter what he is,” Erin protested. “I’m sure the Gallants won’t mind so long as he’s with me.”

  Riva made no further objections but came to an instant decision. If Erin had to go, then she herself would be there to protect her. Noel had said she should not leave the house alone just now, but she would not be alone if she was following Erin and Doug, nor would she be unprotected herself; she would see to that. “I’ll go, too.”

  “You don’t have to,” Erin said.

  “No, but I may as well be there as sitting here worrying. Besides, if I drive my car, I can bring you back here afterward. That way, Doug won’t have to make the trip again.” It was an excuse, of course, but one she hoped Erin would not recognize.

  “I don’t mind,” Doug said.

  She gave the photographer a faint smile. “I know, but I do. It wouldn’t be fair to impose on you.”

  “Please do.”

  Her smile grew warmer. “Maybe another time.”

  It was well after dark by the time they reached the hospital. They made their way to the intensive care unit where the normal rules of visiting hours were permanently suspended. The waiting room attached to it was a place with grubby chairs and lounges, crumpled newspapers and dog-eared magazines, and wastebaskets that overflowed at this time of night with Styrofoam coffee cups and cold drink cans. There was no longer anyone manning the phone there at that hour, but friends and relatives could call the nurses in ICU for a report of their patient’s condition.

  Anne Gallant was sitting alone, turning the pages of a magazine. She tossed it aside and got to her feet when she saw them enter. Erin went to her at once and enfolded her in a quick hug. “How is he?”

  “Still holding his own,” Anne said, her smile dim as she drew back.

  Riva met the eyes of Josh’s mother over her own daughter’s shoulder. The look Anne Gallant gave her was intent and questioning, yet held a hint of embarrassment. A moment later, her attention was claimed once more by Erin.

  “Do you think they’ll let me see him?” the young woman was asking.

  Anne glanced at her watch. “They aren’t letting anyone in, though you can see him through a glass partition during the ICU visiting periods every four hours. It’s nearly time now.”

  “That would be something at least.”

  “Just be prepared. He’s…different, pale, even waxy, and with bandages practically to his eyebrows. He hasn’t opened his eyes or made a sound since—since the surgery.” Anne’s voice caught. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away distractedly. “Will you come with me?” Erin said.

  “They only allow one at a time and then just for a few seconds. You go first, and when you come back, I’ll go. You can wait at the door at the end of the hall if you like. It shouldn’t be long.”

  Doug went with Erin to keep her company during the wait. Riva was left alone with Anne. They sat down, trying to relax in chairs that had conformed to the shapes of too many bodies through too many long nights. Silence crept in upon them, broken only by the muted ring of a bell tone followed by an announcement in the corridor outside the room.

  Anne spoke. “Josh and Erin really are alike, aren’t they, extremely alike.”

  It was a declaration of sorts, a means of conveying a message without actually saying it. To Riva, it was a relief. There was no longer a need to guess where she stood.

  “Yes, they are,” Riva answered. “They could almost be true brother and sister, couldn’t they? I’m sorry about your son, and the accident.”

  Anne looked up at her with so much pain in her eyes that she seemed ten years older. “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Well, no, not really. I only heard about it a short time ago.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Is there some reason I should?” Riva’s tone was perplexed, her gaze steady on that of the other woman.

  “You know, I believe you.”

  A shudder ran through Anne and she looked down at her hands, aimlessly clasping and unclasping them. At that angle of her head, Riva could see the shadow of a recent bruise, only partially concealed by makeup, on her jaw. “I think,” she said slowly, “that you’re going to have to explain that.”

  “I suppose. Edison—Edison has this theory that you might have arranged the plane crash.”

  “What? No!”

  “There is some question of foul play.” The words were hollow, almost toneless.

  Riva’s mind raced, selecting and rejecting possibilities. “I see. And am I supposed to have done this in retaliation?”

  Anne looked up with a frown between her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean. I presumed it to have been more in revenge.”

  They were obviously talking at cross purposes. Edison’s wife did not seem to know about the attack on Riva and her driver. Quickly Riva outlined what had taken place. In return, Anne told her the little she had been able to gather about how and why the plane had gone down short of the runway.

  Riva gave a slow, disbelieving shake of her head. “Just how am I supposed to have managed this? Did I track down a mechanic with expertise in electronics, or did I just call my local hitman?”

  “Neither. The idea is that most likely you called Dante Romoli.”

  “Dante?”

  Riva stared at the other woman. Anne Gallant did not avoid her gaze but returned it steadily. At last Riva said, “And if Dante was so obliging as to consent, who did he do it for? Me or you?”

  A spasm crossed Anne’s face, as if she had clenched her jaw together. Hot color rose under her skin. “I see you know about us. And I thought I was being so careful. It seems I’m not cut out for this hole-in-the-corner business. But the question really isn’t important, is it? What’s important is: Would he do it at all?”

  “You don’t know?”

  It was ignoble of her, Riva thought, to make that small dig, but she couldn’t help it. She had no right to be jealous of Dante, and, in fact, had never resented the long line of females who occupied his bed for a night or a weekend. But the others had not been a threat to his loyalty to her and she had known it. Anne Gallant might be different.

  “I honestly don’t think he would,” Anne said in painful concentration, “but then it’s true that I told him I would rather be a widow than go through a messy divorce. Beyond that is his relationship with you. I understand that it’s…special since he won’t discuss it, but I don’t know how deep it goes or how far he will go for it.”

  “I would hate to think it depended on that alone.”

  “You’ve known him for years while I…Well, it’s only been a matter of days for me. Surely you can tell me?”

  “I wish I could. I can see how you would think that I could. But there are some parts of Dante’s life he doesn’t share, parts where I don’t intrude. This is one.”

  Anne shook her head. “I’m so confused. He seemed someone to trust, so sympathetic, so compassionate. And now my son is lying there…”

  “Don’t think about it.”

  “How can I not? What if Dante did do this thing? Something will have to be done to prevent him from doing it again. We—you and I—can’t just do nothing.”

  “I don’t intend to do nothing. I’ll talk to him, though I’m not sure what it will gain. If he’s innocent, it’s not likely he can prove it, and if not, he won’t be foolish enough to confess it, even to me.”

  Riva had hardly finished speaking when a man’s tall form appeared in the doorway. Catching a glimpse of that arrival from the corners of her eyes, she looked around. It was Edison. Annoyance and uneasiness washed over her. She had begun to think she might get through this visit without having to see him.

  He checked an
instant when he recognized her, then came on at a deliberately slow walk. “Well, well. What’s this, a hen party?”

  There was no point in answering as far as Riva was concerned, nor did Edison’s wife seem inclined to reply. Riva stood up, her gaze on Anne. “It must be almost time for the two of you to see Josh. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go find myself a cup of coffee.”

  “There’s a snack room with a coffee machine down the hall and around the corner,” the other woman offered. “What you get isn’t great, but it’s hot.”

  Riva neither avoided Edison’s stare nor held it as she moved around him. Still, she breathed easier when she was out in the corridor. The situation was an odd one, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. What did you say to a man you are sure has tried to have you killed, one who thinks you may have hired someone to kill him? Ordinary politeness didn’t quite seem to cover it, but if there was not enough evidence to make accusations, what was the alternative?

  She hoped Erin’s need to see Josh was satisfied and they could go home soon. Confrontations of this kind, no matter how civil, were hard on the nerves.

  Anne was right, the coffee was hot. Riva sat down with her full Styrofoam cup at one of the Formica-topped tables. The chair was plastic and cold to the touch. Hospitals were always cold, even in the summer with their superefficient air-conditioning and especially at night. She stirred powdered creamer into her coffee, then lifted a hand to the back of her neck, massaging the taut muscles there, moving her head back and forth to ease the tension.

  There was an older woman standing at one of the cold-drink machines. She wore her hair in a bun and had on a polyester pants suit that drooped on her thin frame like washing hanging on a limp line. The woman inserted her money and made her choice, and the can came tumbling down. With the diet drink in her hand, the woman flashed Riva the sympathy-tinged smile usually exchanged by hospital visitors. Turning, she shuffled from the room.

  “How very nice of her to leave us alone,” Edison said with savage politeness from behind Riva. “I was hoping we could have a moment to talk.”