Planned Coincidence: A Thrilling Suspense Novel (International Mystery & Crime)

by Dana Arama

  Planned Coincidence

  Dana Arama

  Copyright © 2012 Dana Arama

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author. The characters and events in this book are figments of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any person, living or dead.

  Contact: danchu227@gmail.com

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Gabriella 2012

  part 1 - Gabriella 2007

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  part 2 - Gabriella 2010

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  part 3 – Guy 2010

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  part 4 - Gabriella 2010

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  part 5 – Guy 2010

  Chapter 24

  part 6 – Gabriella 2010

  Chapter 25

  part 7 - Guy 2012

  Chapter 26

  part 8 - Gabriella 2012

  Chapter 27

  part 9 - Guy 2012

  Chapter 28

  Acknowledgments

  My first thank you and a big loving kiss goes to my daughter Kaylee who lost "mother and daughter time" during the long process of creation, but with surprising maturity encouraged me to continue to write.

  Thank you to my supportive family: my sister Galia, who believed in me before I believed in myself, my brother in law who read countless drafts, my husband who argued over each of my ideas and Karin who helped me with the initial research of the book. Thanks to Tamir who advised me about Paris and brought the place alive for me.

  A great thank you to my patient friends: Karen, Tami, Shmulik, Benny, Oren, Sima, Rina and many others, who read the manuscript and pointed out mistakes and scenes to be corrected and mainly for the fact that they had to suffer in silence, while I was babbling on endlessly about my characters.

  A special thanks to I., I., O. Y, and T. marine commando soldiers, who inspired the creation of Guy's character.

  An especially enormous thank you goes to my teacher, friend and first editor, Dr. Amnon Jackont who accompanied me through the process and forced me to improve.

  Gabriella 2012

  The tear-drenched face of the mother from Toulouse appeared again and again in the newscasts.

  I could not take my eyes off the screen. Maybe it was because my heart ached with loneliness she has yet to feel. I knew what would be keeping her busy in the following days: police questionings, identifying bodies, the funeral and the guests flowing in and out during the shivah. Seven days of sitting, mourning, remembering and letting the tears dry before resuming life again. Oh, yes, the news reporters. Them too.

  The weeks and months will fuse together and become ‘the years after’ and they will determine whether she will end up full of hatred for her fellow humans, or come to accept her fate. What will she do when she wakes up at night to a quiet, barren house… no husband, no kids? I asked myself.

  I placed the champagne bottle on the table. It still had that crisp chill from the wine cooler. There were days when alcohol helped me forget, but this one was meant for a celebration. I was hoping that this woman from Toulouse would know happier days and experience joyous moments of her own, too.

  I was startled by the ringing of my cell phone. I glanced at the big clock decorating the wall of my new Parisian flat. It was already twenty minutes past five. The number that appeared on the screen brought a smile to my face. The hesitant voice on the other end merged harmoniously with the whirlpool within me. The conversation was short, but promising. An exciting visit. This is it, I thought, this is the way she too will build herself again; those moments of happiness.

  I put the phone down and at once it started ringing again. Oh no - I hope he hasn’t changed his mind and wants to cancel, I thought to myself. The number wasn't listed. I answered.

  “Bonjour.”

  “Hi, it’s me. Natalia.”

  “You’re crying, my dear. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m watching this poor woman on TV…” she replied with a sniffle, ”… and I thought that you might want me to be there earlier, or maybe we’ll go out instead of staying home…”

  “You’re truly wonderful, Natalia. I feel her pain, too… she can’t grasp its magnitude now, and it’ll only grow stronger. But you know… she will see happier days… she will have reasons to celebrate.”

  “No change in plans, then? I’ll be there at seven. We’re going to have ourselves a party!”

  Now I felt calm. All I had left to do was to watch out for the bad memories that creep in when my guard is down.

  part 1 - Gabriella 2007

  Chapter 1

  The evening descended sooner than expected. I was lying down on the swing at the edge of the backyard, softly gliding back and forth and back and forth… the rhythmic squeaking of the chafing wood was soothing. I closed my eyes. I loved it even more with my eyes shut.

  The combination of the slow rocking, the cool evening breeze and the tantalizing squeaking noise reminded me of those evenings aboard the deck of our yacht, before we had to sell it.

  The patio lights turned on. The light barely illuminated the swing. Dan was settling into a chair where it was bright, with a newspaper in his hands. I looked at him with the same adoring eyes with which I had been admiring him since we were ten. The tall boy from Savion, destined for success, the relentless athlete; now a mere shadow of his former self. I could have easily attributed his level of exhaustion to his last business trip, which was longer than usual, but I knew this was not the case. Signs of his heart attack and financial deterioration started showing up months before this trip. He was tiring out faster than usual, seeming almost ghostly. His thick, fair hair was thinning and turning silver, the light in his eyes dimming. My man, never deprived of anything in his life, was having a rough time dealing with this new situation.

  I handled the changes better, growing up on the other side of town. Just across the street, in Or-Yehudah, we knew how to make ends meet even when our paychecks didn't quite make it till the next pay day. That is why I did not panic when our bank account started fraying at the edges.

  The cutbacks hit us when I needed to complete the renovations on his parents’ home, which had become ours. Even then, I still managed to complete them on time and within our budget boundaries.

  In the eyes of a ten-year-old from the slums, it was a palace. On the rare occasions I had the privilege to visit this neighborhood and enter this house, it was breathtaking. Whichever way you chose to look at it, it was dazzling. And I was always awed.

  For years we haven’t touched the house.

  What made me eliminate the previous owners’ presence with my extreme renovation? The resentment I had in my heart toward Dan's family, of course.

  The wind got stronger and was fooling around with the leaves on the branches. They spun around each other like butterflies dancing in the m
ating season as they fell. Two of them landed right beside a carpet of foliage peeking through the tall pool of weeds. As we tightened our belts, we had to cut down on the gardener’s hours. I knew that if the downsizing got any worse, I would have to take care of the garden myself.

  The sound of newspaper pages being turned was familiar. Dan was concentrating on the financial section, checking the stocks he had got rid of in time, and reading the results with a satisfied smile. Knowing that he managed to dodge the loss was of little comfort. Of all the businesses he had expanded into in recent years, the only one left was the oldest - the diamond business. The stock market felt like home to him. He was the second generation of a successful line of diamond traders, the board member with the fancy office on the top floor of the skyscraper. No wonder he decided to keep that business, it being the only thing that still shimmered and smelled of success. The pages were flipping again. I could detect impatience now. This was not a leisurely flip through. He was fighting with the paper.

  A sense of alarm came over me. I tensed with the realization that I should get up from my swing and go comfort my agonizing husband. I knew perfectly well the consequences of those mood swings. Though I have not physically felt them for years, my body has its own memory.

  I, too, had my own business - a gallery I inherited from my parents. The revenue did not reach a seven figure number, nor a six for that matter. I was happy with any modest success. Since Dan recovered from his heart attack and we were done with the renovations, I started investing time in the gallery, and I, too, was feeling tired after working all day. Credit for the gallery’s success was all mine, and it filled me with pride.

  I had recently spotted two very talented artists. Last month, I sold a piece made by one of them, and today I sold a complete series of his, all to the same buyer. Aside from a good profit, I enjoyed my good artistic intuition. I had spotted a talent, put my wages on him, and won big time. I had not lost the magic touch I inherited from my dad. The pleasure of taking a successful risk was slightly erotic. Under the cover of darkness and the rhythm of the swing, I allowed my hand to fall in between my legs. I closed my eyes and my mind went back to the morning hours.

  In my mind, I was picturing Sergey. Ever since I met him weeks ago, I knew he would come back, not just because he adored Mikayeal’s unique painting style, but also because we had unfinished business. I reconstructed the moment he entered the gallery. It was as if he was going to conquer it. He boldly put his big, bold body way too close to me, invading my space with complete disregard of proper etiquette. It was almost forceful; not in a menacing way, but a seductive one. I wanted him right then and there, because he was glowing with strength and because of the danger hovering over his head like a magnetic aura. I wanted him every time he walked in because of the excitement he left me with when he was gone. Nothing really happened, though. He was, and remained, only a client.

  I let myself enjoy another moment of intoxicating sweetness before I got off the swing and went to the patio. The crunching sound of leaves breaking under my feet startled Dan. His eyes quickly lifted from his newspaper.

  “Where were you?”

  I leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I dozed off on the swing,” I lied. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”

  “I’m good. We sealed a big deal today and went out late to eat at the seafood place.”

  “But you don’t like seafood -”

  I wanted to tell him how happy I was for him having this deal to console him, but he rudely cut in. “You don’t always get to choose… what you like doesn’t always matter.”

  “I also have some good news,” I replied rather cheerfully, completely disregarding his angry face.

  I had learned over our years together how to deal with his excellent talent for emotional blackmail.

  He continued with his newspaper, knowing I was expecting attention that he would not bestow.

  “Oh... come on.” I tried to appease him with a cajoling tone. “What’s your problem today?”

  “My problem?” His pampered expression that I used to love so much now only brought me dismay. “My problem is that you spend all day at the gallery and in the evening, when I finally get home, you totally ignore me. Robbie’s hardly anywhere to be seen lately and I’m beginning to find this huge house an absolute waste.”

  Obviously, there was no connection between the way he felt and the size of our house. “What’s really worrying you?” I asked with the little patience I still had.

  Doubt was evident in his voice. He folded the newspaper and laid it on the table, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Gabi… if this continues, we might need to sell this house. It is really far more than the three of us need.”

  For the first time, I grasped the magnitude of his pain. To give up his childhood home, given to him as a surprise gift from his parents, would be far more devastating to him than selling the yacht or the Jaguar that was once parked in our garage. This was admitting failure, far beyond a temporary hardship.

  “Are you serious? You just said you landed a big deal…” My bafflement could easily be heard in my tone. “… and I sealed a decent deal, too. We made twenty thousand or so…”

  “True, your gallery earns a few thousand a month, but it hardly covers the operating costs. It’s time to consider selling it.”

  Supposedly, there was a similarity between our disasters: his house and my gallery, both fruits of our parents’ work. But I didn’t feel it was necessary to sell the gallery. He brought it up out of rare spite that would sometimes surface. I knew him well enough to recognize that this was his coping strategy whenever he felt cornered.

  “You said you closed the deal. So tell me exactly why we need to sell my father’s gallery?” I whispered, tears welling at the back of my eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” His words echoed in my mind as I battled my tears. But I remained unconvinced. He was frozen in his seat, refusing to look at me. His eyes were fixed on a random spot. This had been happening for a while now; he would withdraw into his own world, avoiding intimacy.

  “You said, ‘I sealed a deal.’” I unloaded that sentence as if they were the last three words we would ever speak. He took off his glasses again and rubbed his eyes. For a second he seemed lost.

  I reached out for his cold hand, but he pulled it away like an angry toddler.

  “If circumstances were different, I’d have never made that deal. I’ve a bad feeling about these buyers.”

  “What seems off about them?”

  He had a tendency to think badly about people. I was used to it. Only now, it felt different. I sensed fear. “I can’t really put my finger on it. Maybe it's because I got so many warnings regarding these new Russians…” That was it. Not another word.

  “But if they turn out okay and things will work out... the gallery won’t be in jeopardy – will it?” I was longing for his approval.

  I examined his face closely. I knew every little line and wrinkle on his face from the day they appeared. So how could it be that I saw before me an old, defeated man? Rage was engulfing me, directed toward myself. How could I have been so self-absorbed as to have totally missed what he was going through? Again, I reached out my warm hand toward his arm, caressing him softly.

  “It’ll be okay, you’ll see,” I said in a surprisingly confident tone.

  “I sure hope so.”

  I do not know what frightened me more, those words or the silence afterward. He knew more than he was willing to share.

  “You want to hear about my day?” I said cheerfully, trying to change his grumpy state.

  “Sure.” I could sense a slightly apologetic tone. “Let's hear something positive.” He even managed to smile, and I loved him for that.

  “I managed to sell Mikayeal’s entire series of paintings. I tripled my investment in him.”

  “I’m happy for you. It’s a truly great accomplishment, especially nowadays. Art will always hold its value, but only aft
er bread.” He put his glasses on and returned to the newspaper.

  I knew enough starving artists that would not compromise when it came to their art, but for now, clearing the air was more important than the truth.

  “I have to get to bed early. I’m picking up Pierre from the airport tomorrow. I have another big deal on the back burner.”

  Usually, Pierre’s name would bring a cloud to my husband’s face. Not this time.

  “Pierre’s the big bucks. Will you earn your dealer’s fee?”

  “We didn’t discuss it, but I’m sure I’ll get the usual percentage for deals like that.”

  Details like these never came up in my mind. Where I grew up, ‘money’ issues were taboo, not to be discussed around the dinner table. Creativeness, self-expression, feelings - these were the vitamins I was fed by my parents. They were the main course of every meal. This was the reality my sister and I grew up in, and it kept us safe from the outside world. I felt that reality slipping away during the years spent with the Korman family. Or was it me moving away from it? Now, when it counted, I was happy to find out this wasn’t the case at all.

  In the past couple of weeks, ‘profit,’ the importance of which I had become acquainted with over the years, was joined by an accomplice: ‘adventure.’ That preoccupied me more than any amount of money I was supposed to get. It rejuvenated my body and brought back a youthful grin to my face. I had almost all I had ever dreamed of. Though I always wanted a big family, I learned to be happy with what I had: a husband, a son, a house, and the gallery.

  There was one thing missing from that wonderful web. Me.

  The materialism I was surrounded by had created a wall of ice around my heart. I was starting to identify the cracks forming in that wall. The once adventurous Gabi was getting a supporting actor. This fresh thrill was yanking me out of the bore that was my life.

  “Gabi, Gabi…” Dan hissed. That disappointed look upon his face was also very familiar. This expression made him look so much like his mom. There used to be days in the far past when that expression was accompanied by a ringing slap on my cheek. I’ve been having doubts for years now. Would he have stopped, regardless of his father’s threats? “It’s so like you not to settle these issues in advance. You’re like your folks in that department. And here, I thought that twenty years with me would change something in you.”