I got out of the car and walked up dirty cement steps into the cool, damp courtyard. The swimming pool glared baby blue in the night. At the end of the pool was a small area of grass where one shaggy palm tree grew. A bright yellow light bathed it in sunshine glow. I started up the stairs to my apartment.
“Where have you been? You’re late.”
Now I knew why I’d divorced him: always the accusation in the form of a question. He was sitting in a deck chair, holding a beer can in one hand and a bottle of champagne with a ribbon around its neck in the other. The pool light reflected dark ripples on his wide, handsome face. His thinning black hair was flecked with gray. The dark, assessing eyes never looked away. The mouth tilted up at the ends, making him look as if he were smiling at a joke that only he understood.
“What are you doing here?”
“Celebration.”
“You mean now that we’re divorced you finally remember my birthday?”
He stood up, smiling even more. He was developing a slight paunch, but he still had the build of a man who relied on his body to protect himself.
“Did it ever occur to you I might’ve had a date?” I asked, going up the stairs. He followed.
“I took a chance.”
I unlocked the door and pushed it open with my foot. We went in and he kicked the door shut with his foot.
“I brought you something,” he said.
I threw my purse in my only chair and turned off the radio. “The beer? Or the champagne?”
“One of the WB’s in the apartment downstairs gave me the beer while I was waiting. This is for you.” He handed me the champagne. His lips curled. I loved those lips. But I’d never trust them again.
“Thank you. He’s not a wetback. He’s legal.”
“Do you have a corkscrew?” He downed the last of the beer and tossed the can in the bathroom wastebasket.
“This is champagne. You don’t need a corkscrew.”
“Just like beer.” The dark eyes studied my face. The lips stopped smiling. “You’re not going to like me for saying this…but you look terrible.”
“My employer blew his head off with a shotgun today.”
“Goddamn!”
He was there. Arms around me. And I began to cry.
What else are big shoulders for?
3
VIRGINITY WAS NOT HAVING her comeback in my life. My breasts were tender from making love, and my morning sadness was overwhelming. Ellis Kenilworth was dead and I had gone to bed with my ex-husband. Cause and effect. Death and sex.
Last night, I had wanted passion to obliterate the image of Kenilworth’s shattered skull. It had nothing to do with Neil—or so I kept telling myself. I had told Neil to leave. Obediently, he sneaked out in the early-morning hours as quietly as a burglar. I didn’t want to fall asleep in his arms and be jarred awake by the moans of his unconscious cries; body jerking, feet moving as if running. I didn’t want to witness his vulnerability in sleep. And I didn’t want him listening to my night murmurs—watching my body, a trembling shadow, fragile in sleep. A man and woman needed to trust one another for that.
Trust. The word, like a magnet, pulled my thoughts away from Neil across the room to my purse. It was in the chair where I had tossed it last night. Kenilworth had trusted me. I turned my purse upside down, spilling out its contents: car keys, makeup kit, wallet, hair brush, comb, Filofax, checkbook, overdrafts, aspirin, bank statements, Tampax, Madame Bovary, pens, sunglasses, my grandmother’s rosary. The large dove-gray envelope was there. I opened it. The codicil was gone.
My body cold, I sank back down onto the bed. Pulling a pink kimono around me, I tried to organize my thoughts. My mind raced over possibilities. Neil. But he didn’t know about the codicil. Even if he did, he wouldn’t take it. What he stole from me was never tangible.
I went into the kitchen. I began brewing coffee. Think, Maggie, think. I had heard the shot. Ran into the house, leaving my purse in the garden. For how long? I made the coffee strong. I had gone back to the garden, gotten my purse, and looked in it. The envelope was there. But I never looked inside the envelope. Think, Maggie! Maybe it was taken later, when I was talking to the police. Did I leave my purse somewhere? Think! But all I could remember was Kenilworth’s body, zipped into a cocoonlike purple bag, strapped to a stretcher. The wheels of the stretcher squeaked on the white marble floor.
After three cups of coffee and pacing in a small circle—all my apartment would allow—I decided to call Valcovich. He was the only one who could back me up about there being a codicil. I got the phone book and flipped through the Yellow Pages. I found the magic word: Attorneys. He had a quarter of a page. Roger Valcovich, Attorney-at-Law. Green Cards. Disability. No-Fault Divorce. Vets Welcome. He did it all.
I searched for the telephone and found it wedged between a box of half-eaten pizza and the empty bottle of champagne. I dialed.
A husky female voice answered, “Law offices.”
“Roger Valcovich, please.”
“Who’s calling?” She smoked; I could hear the rattle of phlegm. Her kind of voice, once considered sexy, was now a sign of death.
“Maggie Hill.”
“Please hold.”
In a few seconds he was on the line. “Yes, Maggie?”
“We met yesterday in Ellis Kenilworth’s office.”
“How could I forget?” His voice was too cheerful. “Yesterday was when I got lucky. I’m the luckiest guy in the world. What can I do for you, Maggie?”
“You helped write a codicil for Mr. Kenilworth.”
“Codicil?”
“An amendment to his will.”
“I know what it is. But that wasn’t why I was in his office. I was there because of you. You were in an auto accident.”
“What’s going on, Valcovich?”
“If you wish, you can make an appointment.”
“Listen, you son of a bitch…”
“Now, now…”
“How did you get lucky, Valcovich?”
A long pause, then a grating chuckle. “I looked out a window.”
“What window? What are you talking about?”
Another grating chuckle.
“The police might be interested in your luck.”
“What will you tell them? You have no proof of anything. I heard on the local news this morning that Kenilworth killed himself. You’re unlucky, Maggie.”
“Listen, you bastard—”
“And you’re out of work, too. I’d hire you, but I just couldn’t take your lip.” He slammed the phone down.
He was right. I had no proof. I decided to call Neil; he was a policeman. I dialed.
A sleepy female answered the phone. “Hello?”
I tried to control my voice. “Is Neil there?” I didn’t do too well. It was shaky with rage.
“Working.” Pause. “Who’s calling?”
I recognized the sound of suspicion. I could’ve eased her fears. Told her just the ex-wife calling. Only a business matter. I didn’t. I hung up without answering.
I wanted her to worry. I wanted him to worry. Son of a bitch! Betrayal was a habit with Neil. My reactions to his betrayals were habit. I knew my emotional knee-jerks as well as a woman knows which fingernail she likes to gnaw on. First there’s pain—the kind that takes your breath away. Then there’s a sense of abandonment—the kind that makes you feel like a lost little girl, the kind you hate yourself for feeling. Then there’s anger—the kind that makes you feel righteous and powerful, the kind you never want to let go of. Why did I still feel these emotions? Why was I still thinking of him? Oh, hell, I’d only wanted passion.
Think about another bastard, Maggie. Think about Valcovich. How does a man like him get lucky? He takes advantage of other people.
I decided to pay the Kenilworths an unannounced visit.
My Honda smelled like a funeral chapel. I had left Sutton’s flowers in the backseat. I threw them in the apartment dumpster. But even with the sun roof down
I smelled dead flowers all the way to Pasadena.
It was the kind of Los Angeles weather I detested: perfect. A strong, warm spring wind had blown all the haze, fog, smog, and clouds into a brown bundle and thrown it out over the Pacific. A relentless sun burned down, distilling the subtle hues of nature into a blinding glare. Every car, every home, every human I passed made me squint. The lawns of Pasadena looked as if they’d been glazed with green enamel. The sidewalks reflected like paths of chrome. But I was safe. I had on my designer shades. Sunglasses protect my soul against perfect weather.
I pulled up in front of the big white house. A hunter-green Jaguar was parked behind a blue van in the driveway. The Kenilworths drove only American. As I made my way toward the house I took a look at the van. A large hunk of a man in tight jeans, holding a phallic-looking rug cleaner, was painted on its side. Printed over the muscle-bound head was the name CHUCK’S and a phone number. I guess Kenilworth got a little of himself on the white rug.
Aiko answered the door. He looked tired but pleased to see me.
“Hello, Miss Hill, you come in.”
“Hi, Aiko.” As he shut the front door I could hear the sounds of Chuck’s machinery cleaning away upstairs.
“I need to talk to Judith and Sutton. Are they here?”
“Miss Kenilworth in library. Follow me.”
Before I could do that, Judith appeared in the foyer.
“We didn’t expect you, Maggie,” she said, closing the library doors behind her. In the three months I had worked there, I’d never seen the library doors closed.
I studied her face for some sort of reaction to my presence. She was as unsmiling and austere as ever. “That will be all, Aiko.” She buttoned another button on her gray cashmere cardigan. “Did you come to clean out your desk? You didn’t pick a very appropriate time. We are a family in mourning.”
“I came to talk to you and Sutton.”
The library doors opened. A woman, draped in lavender suede, stood staring at me with tilted green eyes. “Sorry, I thought it was Brian.”
Her skin was wedding-gown white. Pinkish-blond hair curved seductively around a face that had been pulled and tightened into the never-never land of agelessness. She was probably in her late fifties. Her breasts were higher and firmer than mine. She wasn’t bad looking if you liked man-made women.
“Go back and finish your coffee,” Judith told her. “Maggie was just leaving.”
“Maggie?” She stepped forward. Diamond studs the size of my thumbnail were embedded in her earlobes. She looked more like Rodeo Drive than Lake Avenue.
“The secretary?” She said it the way some people say “the wife” or “the girlfriend.” Why have these words become permanently disabling?
“Temporary secretary.” Oh, hell.
“You found the suicide note?”
“I saw it.”
She looked at Judith, then back at me. “I guess Judith isn’t going to introduce us. I’m Patricia Kenilworth. Ellis’s widow.” Mauve lips pushed against tight skin, trying to form a smile.
I slowly closed my open mouth, then opened it again: “I didn’t know Mr. Kenilworth was married.”
“I’m the family secret. Have been for years.”
Judith blanched. “You’re his ex-wife,” she snapped.
“His only wife,” Patricia said defiantly. “The Kenilworths don’t like outsiders. Maybe you’ve noticed?” She studied me. “Did you read the note?”
“No.”
Her eyes were as shifty as a cat’s. “If I found a suicide note, I’d read it.”
“I didn’t have time to read it. And when I went back for the note, it was gone.”
The eyes were trying to decide if I was telling the truth. “It must’ve been terrible seeing him…a shock.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you just thought—”
Judith interrupted. “That’s what we were trying to explain to Maggie last night. It was a shock. She imagined a letter. Or she saw a piece of paper in his jacket that was unrelated to his suicide. Why don’t you come back next week and clean out your desk, Maggie, when things have calmed down?” She took Patricia’s arm and they headed toward the library.
“The suicide note wasn’t written on a piece of paper. It was written on the back of something like a photograph. And I’m not here to clean out my desk. I’m here—”
I didn’t get to finish. Patricia broke away from Judith and moved quickly to me, sliding a hand as soft as velvet around my wrist. Her eyes were frightened.
“Photograph? What photograph? Do you have it?”
“Patricia!” Judith snapped.
“I need a drink. Suicide is terrible…a terrible tragedy. Ellis is dead. He doesn’t have to suffer anymore. But the rest of us…” She disappeared into the library.
“Judith, I need to talk to you about Ellis’s will,” I said.
“His will is none of your business.”
“I think you’d better get Sutton. There’s something else missing besides the suicide note.”
She studied me for a moment, then headed for the library. I followed. She went to a leather-top desk, picked up the phone, and pushed the intercom button.
“Sutton? Maggie Hill is here…No, she hasn’t come to pay her condolences. She’s here about…just a minute.” She looked at me. “What did you say it was?”
“A codicil to Ellis’s will.”
She spoke into the phone. “Ellis and his will or something…I have no idea what she’s talking about. Would you come down?…For God’s sake, you can leave her alone for a few minutes!…Well, tell the cleaning crew to turn off the machine if it bothers her.” She carefully put the phone down. “Mother is very upset.”
“Eleanor is finally old now. I always thought her power would diminish with age, but it hasn’t.” Patricia poured straight scotch. The sun angled in through the opening of the rose damask drapes and glanced off her thick gold bracelet. She moved out of the line of the sun and sat on a beige silk chair next to a wall of leather-bound books. By the slow way she crossed her legs I knew she thought she had the best pair in the room. She sipped. Ice tinkled.
“You didn’t tell me anything about a codicil, Judith.”
“I don’t know anything about it. I don’t even know what one is.” Judith took her usual place on the rose damask sofa. She sat with her knees pressed tightly together.
“And you don’t know anything about Ellis leaving a photograph either. It seems Maggie has all kinds of privileged information. Did he mention me in his codicil?” The cat eyes turned coy.
“No,” I said.
“Always thinking of yourself,” Judith said.
Patricia laughed. Ice tinkled. Perfume wafted. Diamonds flashed. She was the kind of woman that permeated a room.
“I’ve had to think about myself, Judith. You’ve never been thrown out. Abandoned. I have. Eleanor saw to that.”
“You were paid,” Judith whined.
“A monthly pittance for five years. And in return I signed over any claim to the Kenilworth estate. Are you sure he didn’t change that in his codicil, Maggie?”
I shook my head.
“It was a long time ago.” Judith’s hand tightened into a fist.
“The past is more real to me than the present. That’s one thing your mother and I have in common, Judith.”
Sutton came into the room. His eyes were red and he looked older. If appearances count for anything, he seemed to be the only one grieving for Ellis.
“Hello, Maggie.” He patted my hand and looked into my eyes, flirting as if it were just any other morning. Patricia saw this and pounced on it.
“Don’t tell me, Sutton, you’ve finally met a woman who stirs the old loins! I didn’t think they could be stirred.”
“Must you talk that way?” Judith glared at her.
The cat eyes turned innocent. “What did I say? ‘Loins’? My God, Judith, you probably blush when you order a loin of beef. If it makes you happier, I
’ll say ‘cock’ from now on.”
Judith pressed her lips white.
“I take it you’ve met the widow,” Sutton said to me.
Patricia downed the last of her scotch. “You should’ve seen Sutton thirty years ago, Maggie. A true beauty.” The last words were spoken with sadness.
Ignoring her remark, Sutton smiled at me. “It was nice of you to come. What can we do for you?” He settled on the sofa next to his sister.
“Yesterday morning Ellis had me type a codicil to his will. He put it in an envelope with my name on it and placed it in my purse until he could find a safer place for it. Then he…killed himself. When I got home I discovered the codicil was missing.” They were looking at me like I was crazy. I didn’t blame them.
“I’m sure if there were an amendment to his will old Proctor would know about it.”
“He didn’t use your lawyer. He used Roger Valcovich. You met him in the office yesterday.”
“You mean that seedy fellow?”
“Yes. Has he contacted you?”
“The only lawyer I met in the office yesterday was yours, Maggie,” Judith said. “He was helping you because you were in a car accident.”
“Yes…but that wasn’t true. I mean…”
“You lied?”
“No…Ellis didn’t want you to know about the codicil. I was afraid Valcovich was going to say something, so I made up a story.”
“And we believed you. Why wouldn’t we?”
“He didn’t want the family to know?” Cat eyes blinked at Judith and Sutton. “My, my. What did he want to keep from the family?”
Brother and sister said nothing. I wondered if Valcovich had already gotten to them. And for how much? I decided this was no time to be discreet.
“He left his entire coin collection to a woman named Claire Conrad,” I said. “He made it quite clear that it was never to go to anyone in the family or connected to the family.”
“Ellis was such a bore with that collection.” Patricia studied Sutton and Judith. “Why wouldn’t he want you to have it?”
Judith sat frozen. The angry-little-girl expression I had seen on her face yesterday was back. Sutton looked thoughtful. Neither one answered.
Mother Shadow Page 3