by Nancy Martin
I looked up at him uneasily and found his blue eyes looking anything but choirboy.
He said, “Find something. Find it and use it.”
“You mean, use information against her? Blackmail.”
“Pressure,” Michael corrected. “Find a weak spot and poke it. Or if she’s got a secret, make her think somebody knows it. Let her worry until she makes a mistake.”
“That’s…”
“Finesse.”
“Immoral, I was going to say.”
“Murder isn’t?”
His gaze was steady and challenging. But Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket then. He glanced at the screen before going outside onto the deck to take the call.
Her storm of tears over, Lexie sat back and dried her eyes with Crewe’s proffered handkerchief.
“Don’t you wonder,” she said, trying to sound normal once the door slid closed behind Michael, “who he talks to? Bookies, do you suppose? Underworld kingpins? Contract killers?”
Crewe said, “Maybe it’s just his dry cleaner calling to schedule a pickup.”
I doubted Michael did much business with dry cleaners.
“I don’t think so,” Lexie said. “When I asked him to bring my car to the police station, he broke into it and hot-wired the engine, slick as can be. And you should have seen the way he walked in. Like he owned the place. The police looked at him like he was Tony Soprano. Or maybe the mayor. I couldn’t tell which. They dislike him. But there’s some strange kind of respect, too.”
“Weird,” Crewe said.
“I’m afraid I didn’t do him any favors,” Lexie said. “When he showed up to get me out of there, the cops probably decided he has a connection to me—and to Hoyt’s murder.”
“Old news.” I was surprised to hear my voice sound so hard. “The police assume he’s connected to all crime.”
“Do you ever ask him about jail, Nora?” Crewe said. “About his prison experience?”
“Oh, God.” Lexie shivered.
I stowed the phone book back in the desk drawer and closed it. “No, I don’t ask. He doesn’t talk about it. I know he doesn’t want me to hear about it. But it was awful for him.”
Michael came back inside, thoughtfully snapping his phone shut. He looked at me, all business, his dinner forgotten. “You staying here tonight? Or you want to go home?”
“Go.” Lexie shooed me away with one hand. “I’m finished bawling. I don’t need you here.”
I was unwilling to leave, but with the hope that Crewe might be allowed to remain with Lexie, I said, “Okay. But only if you’re sure.”
“I’m very sure, sweetie.”
“I can take you home,” Michael said. “Delmar’s bringing me a car. But then there’s a thing I need to take care of.”
“Well, the good news is that at this time of night,” Lexie said cheerfully, “it can’t be anything too serious. Or can it?”
The expression on Michael’s face said it was serious indeed.
“What’s going on, Mick?”
Without answering Crewe, Michael slid his cell phone back into the pocket of his trousers. Almost to himself, he said, “It’s going to be common knowledge soon.”
“What is?”
The three of us sat still and waited.
Michael sighed and came clean. “My brother stole a truck. It was full of microwave ovens. At least, that’s what everybody thought. The cops just found the real cargo hidden inside the boxes. Knockoff goods from China. Sneakers, mostly. And some purses.”
“You mean designer handbags? Imitations?”
He shrugged. “Whatever they are, they’re worth, like, five thousand bucks apiece. A bunch of celebrities are on a waiting list to get them. Some comedian’s wife had a meltdown in Barneys when she heard the purses got impounded. Let me tell you, I don’t understand at all. These purses are ugly as hell.”
“You’ve seen them?” I asked.
“Yeah, with buckles and straps and junk hanging off them.” He used his hands to vaguely identify the size and shape of a handbag. “Anyway, the worst of it is there’s some endangered snake that donated its skin for these purse things. Suddenly, it’s an international incident. A bunch of federal agencies got wind of that, so it’s…more complicated than I first thought.”
“Yikes,” Lexie said.
“Anyway, I gotta go see some people. And then I need to pick up Emma.”
“Emma?” Crewe said. “What for?”
“She’s staying with me,” Michael replied, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Really? Isn’t that kinda dangerous?”
Lexie poked Crewe, who stopped smiling abruptly.
I said, “Has she given up drinking?”
“She’s trying,” Michael replied steadily.
“With your help.”
“Yes.”
So there it was. They’d been driven together by the perfect storm of conditions. He had wanted a family of his own, and now he was going to get it. Emma had been longing for another bad boy to replace her dead husband, Jake, and who could be badder than Michael?
And now he was helping my sister stay sober, too—perhaps the ideal way to solidify a relationship.
My head got light, and a swampy gush of the river started to ooze around my feet.
Michael came over and eased my head between my knees. “Breathe,” he said.
I breathed. The ooze eventually receded. His hand felt very warm on the back of my neck.
“You could have told me,” I said, not exactly talking to Michael. I wanted Emma to hear me, too.
“Come on,” he said quietly, steadying me as I sat up. “I’ll take you home.”
Lexie stood abruptly and went to Michael. She gave him a fierce hug. “Thank you, sweetie. I’m so sorry I asked you to rescue me tonight. That’s the last thing you need, right? To be associated with this Cavendish mess? And me?”
Michael held her at a distance by her arms. “That doesn’t matter. The important thing is you’re out of there. Take some time to think now. You’ve got options.”
“I will.”
Crewe stood up, too. “Mick, thanks.”
They shook hands. “No problem.”
“We’ll ask more questions, see what we can find out about the people around Cavendish.”
“Be smart about it,” Michael advised. “Make sure you’re a few steps ahead before you go cross-examining anybody. And when in doubt, call the cops. Don’t try to be a hero.”
Crewe nodded. “Yeah. I could end up looking stupid.”
“Or worse.”
I pushed Michael’s coat off my shoulders and got unsteadily to my feet. “I don’t need a ride home. I’ll just take the train. Rawlins can pick me up at the station. If I could just call a cab—”
“Sweetie,” Lexie began.
“It’s okay,” Michael said to her.
I didn’t want to go with him. In fact, I dreaded being alone with Michael. I needed time to think.
He wasn’t taking no for an answer, though.
We said good night to Crewe and Lexie, who both hugged me and tried to behave cheerfully. Michael and I went outside into the muggy heat.
Delmar, the hulking Abruzzo bodyguard with the dent in his forehead, waited outside Lexie’s house. He leaned against a long car that was parked on the street, and he watched two giggling coeds try to climb the fence of the house next to Lexie’s where the party still rocked.
Delmar removed the earphones from his iPod when we approached. I might have been invisible, because he didn’t even glance my way. “You want me to sit in the back, boss?”
“Yes.” Michael held the door for me while I slipped into the passenger seat. The vehicle was a low sedan shaped like a spaceship. It had white leather seats and an eight-track tape player in the dashboard. The word ROYALE was etched into the glove compartment. Michael closed the door.
The two men muttered outside the car.
Then Delmar climbed into the seat behind me. The s
prings under his seat groaned. Very faintly, I could almost hear the music from his iPod, too. It sounded like Dean Martin.
When Michael slid behind the wheel and closed his door, I said, “I’d be happier taking a cab.”
“I wouldn’t.” He tipped his head to indicate the muscleman in the backseat. “Delmar’s under orders to stay with me. Sorry.”
“Whose orders?” I asked, even though I knew it was Big Frankie who cared enough about Michael’s safety to provide round-the-clock protection when the situation warranted it.
Michael said, “It’s not a big deal.”
“Is he carrying a gun?”
“I don’t know,” Michael said testily. “You want me to ask him?”
“You don’t frisk your employees?”
Michael started the car. “He’s not my employee. He works for my father. Relax, will you?”
“I don’t want to relax.” I turned in the seat to face him. “Lexie says you made quite an impression on the police tonight.”
“So what else is new?”
“How involved with this truck hijacking are you? Or is there something else going on, and the truck is some kind of decoy story you cooked up? If Delmar’s got your back, that means you’re in danger.”
“I’m not. Delmar doesn’t have anything better to do now that my brother’s locked up. My father can’t stand Delmar hanging around the house all the time. So chill. I’m stuck with him.”
“You’re making it all sound so plausible,” I said. “But if federal agencies are involved, there’s serious jail time coming for somebody.”
“That’s what has you so upset?”
“That, and a few other things.” I took a deep breath. “You had to steal Lexie’s car tonight, Michael? You had to break into it and—and jump the engine or whatever?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Call a taxi. Take a bus. Walk, for crying out loud, like a normal person!”
“She wanted her car. She wanted me to pick her up so she could drive it home without going to her parking garage, where some reporters were looking for her. What’s the problem?”
I grabbed the door handle and shoved. A second later, I was out of the car and standing in the street. Michael got out of his side, too, and slammed the door. We glared at each other over the roof of the car.
I said, “You don’t even think like a law-abiding citizen. Your first impulse is to commit a crime.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “I did a favor for your friend.”
“And what about all that advice you gave us in there? How to pressure people into telling us what we want to hear?”
“You asked! It’s not my fault if you didn’t like what you heard.”
“That’s not what’s going on here. Eventually, Michael, I worry you’re going to find yourself doing more than stealing cars.”
“I didn’t steal—”
“You broke the rules. Worse yet, you like breaking rules. It comes naturally to you.”
“What about you? Talk about natural inclinations. How come you can’t leave this Cavendish murder alone? Don’t you see where it’s taking you?”
“I’m trying to help the people I love!”
“Okay, so I boosted Lexie’s car tonight because she’s somebody you love, too. What’s the difference?”
“You can’t see it?”
Delmar chose that moment to get out of the backseat. He said, “Boss?”
Michael’s voice turned icy. “Get in the car, Delmar.”
“I’m just saying, we got to get going.” Delmar tapped the enormous sports watch on his wrist.
Michael checked his watch, too. “I know, I know. Get back in the car.”
Delmar obeyed.
Trembling with the effort not to scream at him, I said, “What are you and your goon planning to do tonight?”
Michael braced both hands on the roof of the car, put his head down and shook it. “You don’t need to know, Nora. I don’t want you in this.”
“Illegal goods from China, endangered species, crossing state lines? I’m doing the math, Michael. Federal crime means penitentiaries.”
He lifted his head and stared hard at me from across the car’s roof. “I think you’re upset because I’m picking up your sister.”
In the dark, I couldn’t see the nuances in Michael’s face. But the challenge was in his voice. I got back into the car and closed the door.
He walked around the car twice to calm himself down. When he got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door at last, he said, “I thought we were on the same side in all of this. It’s Emma who needs both of us right now.”
The last person I wanted to hear about in that moment was my sister. “Will you take me to the station, please? Or should I hitchhike?”
He drove. Delmar listened to his music. I sat in the passenger seat and tried not to let my emotions overwhelm me. Once we got back into the city, Michael parked at a hydrant and walked me to the train, where he was crazy enough to try to kiss me good night.
“Don’t,” I said, turning away.
He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I’ll call you later.”
“No.”
“I want to know if you get home safely.”
I walked away without looking back. From the train car, I telephoned Rawlins to ask if he could pick me up at the Yardley station.
“Sure,” my nephew said. “I get off work in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, Rawlins.”
I closed my phone and sat in the train, thinking, as it pulled out of the city. I was one of two passengers in the car on this, the last run of the night. The other woman sat with her nose in a Lisa Scottoline novel. I wished I had something equally diverting to take my mind off the mystery of my own life, but I didn’t.
I thought about crying, but quickly decided it was better to stay angry. Sometimes Michael seemed so close to becoming a domesticated animal that I had hope for him. At other times, I realized I had been fighting a part of his personality that would probably never change.
The other woman finished her book and left the paperback on an empty seat when she got off. I picked up the book on my way off the train.
I tried to immerse myself in the Scottoline story until Rawlins appeared at the train station. He drove me home, talking animatedly. He was excited about his new girlfriend, I realized. A girl who was easy to talk to, unchallenging and simple. Who wasn’t going off to college in a couple of months. Tonight Rawlins seemed happy, all annoyance at her constant pestering gone. Or maybe he’d just eaten too much blueberry cheesecake ice cream and was on a sugar high.
At Blackbird Farm, Rawlins parked the minivan beneath the oaks, and we got out. A shiny black car sat on the gravel driveway near the paddock fence. Emma’s herd of ponies were poking their noses through the rails.
Toby trotted across the lawn to us, tail wagging. Rawlins bent down to ruffle his fur, and Toby wriggled happily.
“Whoa,” Rawlins said, looking at the house. “Who’s having a party?”
Every light in the house was turned on.
I said, “Your grandparents, no doubt. If anyone offers you marijuana—”
“Just say no?”
“‘No, thank you.’ They’re due a little respect.”
We headed up the sidewalk together, but Rawlins snapped his fingers. “I forgot my backpack in the car.”
While he jogged back to the minivan, I went up the porch steps, sniffing the air for any telltale scent of illegal substances. I pushed open the unlocked back door. Toby shoved ahead of me, and I stepped into the kitchen after him.
And someone put a gun to my head.
He said, “Don’t move. Or you’re dead.”
Chapter Thirteen
My whole family sat very still around the kitchen table, their hands laid flat on the tablecloth. They stared in silent horror as the gunman snaked his arm around me from behind and grabbed my shoulder. He pressed the cold barrel of the gun
into my cheek, and my heart stopped.
He said, “Don’t say a word.”
I said, “My nephew’s outside. He’s coming right behind me. Don’t hurt him.”
“Didn’t I say not to talk?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t—sorry. Just don’t hurt my nephew.”
He gave me a push, and I stumbled away from him. I caught my balance on the kitchen counter and turned around.
The man with the gun was Tierney Cavendish.
He had sweated through his white shirt, and his grip on the gun didn’t look very steady as he pointed it at me. His long dark hair hung in damp strands around his face. He wasn’t handsome anymore. He looked desperate.
He said, “Shut up. Don’t talk. Let the kid come inside and I won’t hurt him.”
A second later, Rawlins be-bopped through the door. Tierney caught him with the same maneuver he’d used on me, only Rawlins was smart enough to obey and didn’t make a sound. With the gun jammed to his throat, my nephew dropped his backpack on the floor and stared at me with wide, frightened eyes.
I said, “It’s okay. Don’t panic.”
Tierney goaded Rawlins forward. “Sit down at the table, everybody. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Mama and Daddy sat very still beside each other. In the chair at the head of the table perched their valet, Oscar. At the other end was Henry Fineman, the computer repairman. Between them, Lucy glowered.
“Where’s Maximus?” I said. “Where’s the baby?”
“Sleeping,” Mama said. “Finally. He missed his nap and got a little cranky. I put him down half an hour ago.”
“He was very bad,” Lucy said. “He wouldn’t stop crying.”
“We couldn’t find his binky,” Henry volunteered.
Rawlins said, “I left it on the counter by the coffeepot.”
Lucy said, “I didn’t go near it. I’m not allowed to drink coffee.”
Patronizingly, Henry said, “Coffee is bad for little girls.”
Lucy stuck her tongue out at him.
Oscar said, “This man is pointing his gun at us again.”
“Shut up.” Tierney quaked as he waved the gun first at one person, then another. He looked exhausted and angry. “All of you. Be quiet so I can think. Why there’s a whole French farce going on, I don’t understand. I thought only you lived here.”