“Is it their business?” He cupped her chin, raising her eyes to his. “I shoulda guessed. Their stock’s slipped twenty per cent in the last month.”
She held his gaze, but said nothing. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
He said, “That’s why they rushed into that new factory in Louisiana, isn’t it? To cut costs, before it was too late?”
Her nod was barely perceptible. “My accountant says it’s probably already too late.” It was barely a whisper. “They’re such nice people. His parents, I mean. I feel so badly for them. I’m having trouble mustering any sympathy for Keith, but I hate to see his folks in so much misfortune.”
“So, with his financial future bleak, you figure Keith was counting on you keeping his bed filled with roses? But, isn’t virtually everything in trusts?”
“Yeah. He won’t get much from me, especially with what McNeely’s got on him. It’ll really piss him off, and I bet his girlfriend goes bonkers.”
“You think she’s only in it for the green?”
“You bet! Oh, she may love the louse, but McNeely found she has a history of doing very well for herself with her affairs. She’s surely expecting a lot more from Keith than he’ll be able to provide now, or ever.”
“Wow! D’ya think he’ll try anything funny?”
They were outside the stall now, the gate closed. She stood quietly, feeding Injun his promised apple. Holding her closely, Craig felt her shiver slightly. The horse plucked the crisp, white remains from her palm, and she turned to him. He wrapped her gently in his arms, his face in her silky hair. How could she still smell so delectable after a day at the stables? She slowly relaxed against him.
“What he can do? He’ll rant and posture and act macho. But in the end, it’ll mean nothing. My attorney says he couldn’t get much without my consent, even without all the things I have on him. The trusts are impenetrable. If I had any respect for him at all, I wouldn’t be getting a divorce, despite how I feel about you. I’d stick it out, and you and I would just have to stay friends.
“Lucky for me… for us… he’s an utter louse,” she said, “and I have absolutely no compunction about leaving him.”
She leaned against Craig, warm and safe in the circle of his arms. Turning her head, she reached up, delivering a tender kiss to his cheek, then stood back and sighed. Taking his hand, they began walking slowly down the dimly lit aisle between the stalls toward the sunlit doors.
She kicked aimlessly at small piles of hay as they ambled toward the entrance, the sunlight shining as if at the end of a long tunnel. Was there happiness there, or… ? An unaccountable chill laced her, raising fine auburn hairs on her neck.
Where’d that come from? She shivered, covertly glancing at Craig.
“What about you?” she asked, finally. “Any doubts about leaving Toni? Think you’ll miss her at all?”
He grunted, giving a short, derisive laugh. “Not for a minute! The last few years have been an erotic Hell. She’s a damned witch, taunting me with great sex whenever it suited her. When she needed to placate me, mostly. But, it doesn’t work anymore. Not since I met you. Even before I realized I was in love with you. If there were never anything else between us, that woulda been enough. Dayenu.”
“What?”
“Dayenu. It’s Hebrew. It means, ‘That would be enough.’ It’s part of one of the Passover prayers.”
“Interesting. How did you ever learn that?”
He paused, pulling her to a halt, just inside the big double doors of the barn. He studied her face for a moment, and squeezed her hands gently, before answering.
“Because I’m Jewish.”
“You’re kidding. With a name like Thornton?”
“It started out Tannenbaum. I changed it, and this nose, in high school. Does this bother you?”
“Not a bit.” She smiled, leaning over and planting another soft kiss on his cheek. Life takes funny turns. Robert Isaac was Jewish. Had she somehow known this about Craig and invented that existence to make it acceptable to her WASP upbringing? The mind’s a powerful thing.
He squeezed her hand again, as they started for the parking lot, both floating on a pleasant aura of happiness. After so many rotten years, their lives were surging down an unexpected but very wonderful path.
But there were bricks in their road.
Very large bricks.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Bruce Feldman slouched next to the same table he’d visited the week before, at the Northwestern Library. A smaller pile of different books were stacked before him, awaiting his interest.
“I hope Wexler can find something,” he muttered softly. The French History Department’s historian had agreed to research their version of the “French Connection,” and had also given Feldman some new venues to follow.
He sighed, opening the top book, wondering why he was so compelled to find the facts… if they even existed… to something to which he was already pretty sure he knew the answers. Craig Thornton’s amazing memories, almost exactly duplicating Ashley’s, verified their reality.
The only thing still obscure was his involvement. Who was he in both those lives, and what was his real culpability in the murders? That was the question most nagging him.
Well, time to play detective again. Hi ho, hi ho, into the books we go. The small smile was more a grimace.
Twenty minutes later he was reading what amounted to a 17th Century obituary: the brutal death of Charles Wallace, Earl of Devonshire, apparently at the behest of some wild creature, thought to be a rogue bear. No mention of visiting French countess also as a victim.
Pretty taciturn, with few added details, but it was something. He turned to another book, seeking confirmation of the gristly event in 19th Century Philadelphia, when his cell phone began vibrating.
Glancing at the screen, he grunted, and after an indecisive pause, punched the “talk” switch.
“Jack,” he whispered, drawing an irritated stare from the girl sitting across from him. “I’m in the library. Wait ‘til I get out in the hall.”
He rose, almost knocking over his chair in his haste, and scurried for the exit.
“Okay,” he said, as the door swished quietly closed behind him. “What’s up?”
“Bruce, I found it!” Feldman gritted his teeth, knowing what “it” was.
“Yeah? What?” he said.
“Wait ‘til you hear this. Unbelievable!” His enthusiastic recount of what he’s learned was no real surprise to the doctor.
Looks like he was a murderer… at least once before.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
“C’mon Nicole, we gotta boogie.”
“What’s the sudden rush to get back, Keith?” She posed, framed in the open doorway to the bedroom, hands on her hips. She looked amazingly sensual, simply garbed in a short black skirt and a lightweight charcoal cotton blouse, open, as usual, well into her cleavage.
“I gotta get back to Chicago. See if I can talk sense into that bitch. If we don’t go now, we’ll miss the last flight outta Houston.” He was enroute to the front door, towing a wheeled carry-on, and shouldering a small duffel bag.
“Jesus! Do you think you can actually talk her out of the divorce, after seeing all the stuff that detective has on us? Even Miss Goody-Two-Shoes is gonna move on, especially now that she’s found ‘true love.’ This is perfect. Now we can be together openly.”
“You’re kidding, right? You got any idea what the fuck you’re talking about?”
“Hey!” She strode up to him, delivering a solid slap across his left cheek. He staggered back, almost tripping over the small suitcase.
“No one talks to me like that!” Malachite eyes threw lightning bolts at him. “Who the Hell do you think you are?”
“Jeez, I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to sound like I was putting you down. But I gotta stop Ashley somehow, before it’s too late.”
Anger diffused, she moved in, planting a wet kiss on the growing red welt on h
is cheek.
“I don’t understand, Keith. Why can’t we just move on to a glorious time together? No more need to sneak around. After the divorce, I can become the real Mrs. Easton. Isn’t that the goal here?”
“Yeah, it’s all I dream about, but there’s a problem.”
“What problem?” Her hand was in his hair, her skilled tongue wreaking havoc on his ear.
“Money! That’s the problem.” She arched back, hands on his shoulders, inky eyebrows raised.
“Money? Christ, Keith, you’re an Easton, COE of Easton Industries. You got plenty of money… don’t you?”
“Actually… no.” He rubbed the corners of his eyes, sighing. “The company’s not doing well, and I’ve taken a 50% cut in salary. This move to Louisiana is our last chance to save it.”
“Terrific! And if this factory fails… ” She stood back, arms akimbo.
“… the business fails. That’s why this thing with Ashley… ”
“Jesus. All this time, you’ve… we’ve… been living off Ashley’s money?”
“Yeah.” He dropped onto a sofa, his face buried in his hands, groaning softly.
“It’s all in trusts, too,” he muttered. “Hers and the kids. No way for me to get at it if we’re divorced.”
“Look.” Nicole settled next to him, one arm around his shoulder, a hand under his chin, raising his face to hers. “You’re not that redhead’s patsy, buster. You’re better’n that. We just gotta come up with a plan.”
“You’re not gonna bug out on me, Nicky? I know you expect the good life, and if I can’t… ”
“Hey, I admit your good looks and all that money were the magnet at first, but there’s some kind of innate attraction here that goes way beyond the obvious. I’m actually in love, and I expect my honey to suck it up and do whatever it takes to fix this.
“Going back to that bitch isn’t gonna cut it, so were gonna have to devise another way to get our hands on that money. We’re both clever, so let’s hatch something that’ll work, but keep us safe.”
“Yeah, okay, we’ll think of something. Wish she’d fall off that damned horse and break her neck.” Nicole slithered onto his lap, strong arms around his neck drawing his face into the luscious prison of her bosom.
“Nice idea. Maybe we’ll have to work on that.” Unbidden, his hands found their way under her skirt, as his shirt disappeared, followed by her blouse. Heat blossomed full-bloomed in him, rushing blood from his brain to his groin, as their clothes fell away. Tumbling to the thick carpeting, they grappled in unrestrained ecstasy.
“The plane,” his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Screw the plane! Fuck me now… and then we got a plan to make. That bitch’s got no chance against the both of us.” She inhaled his iron rod, switching around so he could taste her, two tongues slathering with erotic bliss. As he finally entered her, locked in the steel of her arms and legs, gripped by the muscles of that incredible moist, velvet glove, a thought wedged into his brain.
The horse. That’s the answer. That’s always been the answer. He shuddered, gasping as they orgasmed together, the thought slipping away for the moment. But the seed was planted.
The horse. Somehow, that was the answer.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The haggling had droned on for nearly an hour.
Craig slouched in the comfortable leather chair, doodling aimlessly on a lined yellow pad, totally bored. Not disinterested… just bored.
He glance at the six people sitting across the polished rosewood conference table, all listening with varying intensities to Max Leverstein’s fifth attempt to clarify his clients position. They just refused to understand. Craig placed a placating hand on Max’s sleeve, giving a little squeeze.
“This is getting us nowhere,” he said. “You people just aren’t listening.”
“I’m very good at listening, Mr. Thornton,” said Archie Smithson. “I just haven’t heard any… ”
“Let’s cut the crap. It’s really very simple. I don’t want anything from the Rudolph’s, and Toni isn’t getting a dime from me.” He looked at her parents, sitting at the end of the table.
“You people have more money than even she can spend. You’ve shielded her all her life, and you’re not about to quit now. If you want a nice, quiet No-fault divorce, that’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“You bastard!” Toni exploded, leaping to her feet, hands braced on the table, leaning across at him, cobalt lasers flashing from her eyes. “I’ll never let you go! I’ll never… ”
“Fine.” Craig stood, despite Max’s attempt to restrain him. “Then I guess I’ll see you in court, with all the messy pictures, videos, recordings… the whole shooting match. There’ll be plenty of local press there, too. Count on it.”
“I don’t give… ”
“Toni! Sit down and shut up.”
She froze, mouth open, in the middle of forming another invective. Her father never talked to her like that. She turned, a plaintive little girl now. Craig marveled at her skill.
“But, Papa, I only… ”
“Just sit down and be quiet.” Harrington Rudolph had not raised his voice, but the steel in it was quiet thunder. She sank back into her chair, tears in the corner of her eyes.
Rudolph turned to Craig, who had slowly lowered himself back to the edge of his seat.
“Why are you doing this, Craig? To Toni, to all of us? Haven’t we treated you like another son?”
“I got no real complaints with you, sir, except you’re permissiveness has allowed your daughter to become an amoral tramp.”
His wife snarled at him, but her father’s upraised hand cut her off.
“Those are pretty strong words, considering you have been with your own lover for many months now. The swords cuts both ways.”
“Ashley’s been a friend, and only a friend, up 'til now. Toni, on the other hand, will sleep with anything with two legs and a dick. And, without a dick, for that matter. I sat back and watched for longer than I shoulda, but no more.
“My friendship with Ashley has no bearing on this, except for showing me what a real woman is like. This was coming, with or without my knowing her. I want nothing more to do with your daughter. I’m really afraid of catching something deadly from her now.”
“That’s preposterous!” It was the first time Craig ever heard her father raise his voice. “You can’t talk about her like that.”
“I have no desire to talk about her at all, unless required to do so in court. There’s only two options. Either we do it my way, which hurts no one, or I’ll see you in court. It’s up to you.”
“Hey, wait a fucking minute. This is my marriage. You can’t… ”
“Toni, will you be quiet!” Face beet red, the elder Rudolph, turned back to Craig.
“You refuse to overlook a few modest indiscretions? I guarantee it will not happen again.” He shot his daughter a menacing glance, as she barked an abrupt, disdainful little laugh.
Craig shook his head, exasperated. “No. You refuse to see things for what they really are. I’ll not back down again. We’re getting a divorce… neat and quiet, or noisy and messy. Your choice. But, I’m getting out. Now!”
“You’re a sanctimonious bastard, Craig,” Toni’s brother growled.
“Stay out of this, Brad,” his father said, suddenly sounding old and uncertain. “Hot heads won’t help matters.”
“I don’t give a damn. He’s fucking around with his bitch, and he expects my little sister to get the short, dirty end of the stick. Who the Hell do ya think you are, Thornton?”
“Look, this is getting us nowhere. If you guys wanna view this little tramp with rose colored glasses, that’s your problem. Fools will believe whatever they want. I was one once, too. But no more.
“The fact remains, Ashley Easton had nothing to do with this. Her behavior’s been exemplary, despite whatever wild tales Toni might have invented. Toni’s the problem, not Ashley. One’s a trollop and the other’s a lady. You
figure out who’s who. I’m outta here.” He turned to his attorney.
“Work it out, Max. Either they agree to a No-fault on my terms, or we go to court. That’s it. No compromise.” Craig closed his briefcase and, shoving back his chair, headed for the door.
Toni leaped to her feet, fists balled, slamming them on the dark stained tabletop with a resounding bang.
“You can’t do this to me! I’ll never let you go. I’ll fight you in every court in the land.”
“Toni… ”
“Shut up, Daddy.” Harrington Rudolph’s jaw dangled comically as he visibly shrunk back from scorching heat of his daughter’s anger.
“You’re mine, Craig! I never give up what’s mine! I’ll kill you first. You and your fucking Ashley Easton. You’ll be sorry. You’ll see.”
“You’re a petulant little girl, Toni. Used to be kinda cute when we were dating, but it’s worn thin. Very unattractive.” He opened the conference room door and paused.
“So, I guess I’ll see you in court, unless good old Daddy can talk some sense into you.” He waved off-handedly as he slipped through the doorway.
“I’ll get you for this, Thornton,” her brother hollered after him. “You can’t do this to my sister. You’ll pay, big time!”
Max Leverstein looked at their attorney, eye-brows raised. Archie Smithson shrugged, the picture of elegance, and mouthed, “We’ll work it out.”
Max sighed, and nodded. He hoped so.
Things certainly had gotten way out of hand.
Divorces were seldom easy.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
“So, Bruce, it’s been a long time, eh.”
Dr. Krause, settling on the edge of his 18th Century French mahogany desk, raised one bushy eyebrow, smiling at his friend and ex-student. Feldman marveled at the full head of wavy white hair still crowning his mentor‘s thin, angular face.
A 3rd Time to Die Page 20