by A. J. Carton
That was the trouble with trusting your gut, Emma thought as she drove back home on 101 in a downpour that slowed traffic to a crawl. Sometimes your gut got tied in a knot. Like hers was now.
After talking to Carmen, all Emma’s gut told her was that Carmen and Tonio had just as much opportunity and motive to kill as anyone else. As for means, the toxicology report was due out on Tuesday. But what would that prove? Anyone could get hold of poison.
So far, she knew Sergio, the chef, had bought poison to kill the rat in his kitchen. Emma also was sure the police found rat poison in the Buchanons’ broom closet the night of the murder. Now that Carmen and Tonio were charged with the murder, she wondered if the police had bothered to ask the Buchanons about that. Suddenly, her gut told her everyone was guilty: the Roma, both Buchanons, Vera, Sacha the bass, Sergio the chef, and, of course, Chiara the understudy who still had the most to gain.
Emma’s thoughts were interrupted by an advertisement on a commuter bus stopped in the lane next to hers. It was an ad for City Opera. A photograph of Natasha Vasiliev, in full Trovatore costume, with her mouth wide open.
Emma checked the clock on the dashboard and gasped. It was quarter to five. She tried to remember exactly what time Jack said he would pick her up. Five fifteen, she assured herself waiting for the traffic to pick up speed. It had to be five fifteen.
But when she pulled into her driveway, the dark blue Tesla was already parked in front of her house. She watched Jack descend her front stairs with his umbrella and get back into his car.
Darn! Emma thought, noting the frown on his face. This was sure to make a bad impression.
Emma also noted that, wearing his well-tailored tuxedo, Jack looked almost distinguished. In a Hollywood Godfather sort of way. Then she scolded herself for being a jerk; and admitted he looked a lot better than most of the old geezers who would be at the Opera Opening Night.
“I was at the jail visiting Carmen,” she shouted getting out of her car and running to the house through the rain. She tried to make it sound like she’d been visiting a sick relative. Like it was part of the Sermon on the Mount or something. After all, hadn’t Jesus said, blessed are ye who visit the sick and the scapegoats like me unjustly locked up in prison? She thought she remembered something like that.
But Emma could tell Jack didn’t buy it. He still looked irritated, and checked his watch before replying, “If there’s any traffic we’re gonna miss the appetizers. And I get pretty grumpy when I’m hungry.”
“Be down in a sec,” Emma assured him, sprinting up the stairs and into the house.
In fact, she changed out of her slacks in record time. No shower. Same underwear. She added stockings. She was dressed in the new skirt and top in five minutes flat. She skipped the old gold shawl. Who knew where that was? Grabbed her black coat. And ran a comb through her hair. Then she looked for the sandals. Four minutes later she found them. In the closet under her boots.
But when she started to put them on, she finally remembered her toenails. She stared at them. They looked awful. But there was no time to worry about them now. It was also too late for makeup. She found an old clutch purse in the top drawer of her dresser, and stuffed in her wallet, keys and a lipstick. Then she dashed downstairs.
To her surprise, when she opened her front door and walked out on the porch, she heard a loud whistle.
“Wow!” Jack called from the car. “I’m impressed.”
Emma blushed. Nobody had whistled at her in twenty years. Except for that valet when she’d forgotten to give him her car key.
“Thanks,” she called over her shoulder as she locked the front door. “I know I don’t look that great.”
Jack, she noted, did not get out of the car with his umbrella or open her door. As she slid into the leather passenger seat, flicking the rain drops off her hair, he replied. “I meant I’m impressed at how fast you got dressed.” That was all he said.
They were almost in Petaluma when she turned to him. “I really apologize for being late, Jack. I needed to talk to Carmen. I didn’t think it could wait until tomorrow. It was about my hunch. The hunch you encouraged me to follow.” She glanced at him, hoping he’d buy into this excuse since she gave him credit for it.
Instead, he continued to watch the road.
Emma noted, with relief, that so far traffic had not been heavy. So she took courage, and continued. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad I went to visit Carmen. Even though it meant being a little late. I found out some interesting things.” She did not add, things that make me more confused than ever.
Jack didn’t ask about the interesting things; Emma felt she’d already said more than enough. They sat in silence for almost half an hour.
Then, as if to extend the distance between them, Jack reached for the radio dial to turn on the news.
Emma glanced at his hand. His tuxedo sleeve had pulled above his wrist revealing what, in the darkened interior of the car, looked like a gold bracelet. Emma mentally gagged. Men and gold bracelets! How tacky. Then she realized it was a plain yellow plastic band.
She looked up. Jack was staring at her.
“It’s for cancer,” he explained. “I always wear it. So I don’t forget. That I didn’t appreciate her the way I should have. She died of cancer.”
“Oh,” Emma said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Please,” Jack replied. “Don’t misunderstand. I loved her, of course. But, seriously, I’m not being romantic. All I mean is, I miss her. Selfishly. I miss her a lot. It wasn’t until she was gone, that I realized how much I had never learned to do. How much she did all those years. She was a wonderful lady; and I never really appreciated her as much as she deserved.”
Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes as he spoke. Was that the best any of us can hope for, she wondered? To be missed? To be missed by someone like that?
“At least you understand now,” was all she said.
Jack turned his head to look at Emma. He must have noticed her wipe her eyes. She felt embarrassed. She motioned with her hand for him to keep his eyes on the road.
“Just like my wife,” he laughed, as though to lighten the mood. “My friends think I’m crazy,” he continued. “You’re rich, they say. If you’re lonely find somebody new. And it’s true,” he nodded, “even some of the young ones. They throw themselves at me. And don’t get me wrong, they’re pretty. Some of them are downright beautiful. I admit it, a few years ago, once in a while I took the bait. But now, I’m thinkin’, what do these babes want with an old codger like me? Well, I know what they want. They’re thinkin’, this old man’s gonna kick the bucket real soon, and I’m gonna get all his money.”
Jack looked over at Emma again, and added, “That’s the Sicilian in me talkin’.” He took his right hand off the wheel and pointed his index finger at her. “We’re realists.”
Emma laughed, thinking of Lexie Buchanon. Is that what Lexie was waiting for, she wondered? Barry to kick the bucket? Was that the rich couple bargain Julie had talked about?
Instead of agreeing with Jack, however, she took the opposite tack. “Look,” she said, “I don’t see anything wrong with someone remarrying if they’re lonely. Young. Old. What difference does it make? You only live once.”
“What about you?” Jack said.
“Me?” Emma answered.
“Yeah, you. Why didn’t you ever remarry? You’re a good lookin’ woman,” he added as if that were the test.
Emma shrugged, uncomfortable with the question. “I’m not lonely,” she finally said.
Jack ignored her answer. “You wanna know what I think?” he said. “In my opinion, a woman like you would be crazy to get married.”
“Why?” Emma asked. Then she added quickly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I agree with you. I just want to hear why you think so.”
“Simple,” Jack replied. “See, at our age, men need women way more than women need men. What does that mean?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll tell ya. It me
ans that if you marry some old codger now, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life taking care of someone who hasn’t a clue how to take care of you. Because if that old codger was me, and had a wife doin’ everything for him, then he never learned how. Why would you want to do that again? You probably been takin’ care of people for years.”
Emma thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe because you loved the old codger?” The answer embarrassed her as soon as she gave it. She blushed.
“Love?” Jack shrugged. “That kind of love? The kind that makes you do irrational things? At our age?” He shook his head. “Nah, we’re too smart for that. I mean, at this stage of my life, I’m not 'fallin' in love’ like in the songs. At my age, I’d have to know someone really really well for that kind of love to develop. I don’t think I have that many years left.”
“You’re probably right,” Emma nodded. “But people our age don’t have to get married. They can take trips together,” she suggested, remembering her wonderful trip to Italy researching her book. Her old friend, Mary, went along. Right before she got sick. They had a ball.
Jack disagreed. “Tell me this. Men are tight with their money – except when it comes to food. We don’t like to shop. Most of us don’t care about museums, sunsets, or cutesy villages. We bring our computers and cell phones with us. And spend hours figuring out which bar has a satellite dish so we can watch the Super Bowl. Face it, we’re a pain in the neck. So why would a woman like you want to travel with a man?” He glanced over at Emma. Then something about the look on her face did make him blush.
“Oh-oh.” He shook his finger at her. “I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re naughty.”
Now Emma blushed. The man had read her mind.
He laughed. “In the old days it was us guys who only had one thing on our minds. Now, I swear, it’s you ladies.” He shook his head. “Let’s get one thing straight, Emma. After losing my wife, I promised myself one thing. I’m not goin’ to bed with anyone I might get attached to. It was way too painful. I’m never goin’ through that again.”
As he finished speaking, he pulled up in front of the parking valet at Jardin.
The maitre d’ greeted Jack with an arm around his shoulder. Just like the time before.
“Ciao bello!” he said. “Senti. Listen to me, Jack. I’m still black and blue from that body check the other night.” He turned to Emma and laughed. “Totally illegal! Ever seen this guy play hockey? He’s a madman. Blocks like a twenty year old. I can’t even roll over in bed. My wife is furious.”
“Tell your wife it’s not much of a game if you don’t take a few hits,” Jack replied.
Vince showed them to their table. Jack ordered a replay of the delicious wine and appetizers from the week before. Substituting a 2003 Dom Perignon Brut for the Nuits Saint Georges.
After the waiter uncorked the champagne, Emma continued to study the menu. One of the appetizers had caught her eye. Beluga blinis. Emma hadn’t noticed it before. The price tag was steep. $95. She’d been trying to figure something out ever since she left Carmen at the jail. How could she narrow down her list of suspects? Suddenly she had the answer. It was going to be expensive; but she decided it was worth it.
As soon as the wine came, she closed her menu and gave it to their waiter. Then she excused herself to visit the ladies’ room. On her way back to the table she tapped Vince, the maitre d’, on the shoulder.
“Tonight,” she said, “at the dinner we’re attending after the opera. Is there some sort of seating plan?”
Vince motioned with his thumb to the private rooms at the rear of the restaurant. “For the party after the opera?” He nodded. “Yes, you’re on the list. There’s a chart.”
“So, you know exactly where everyone is seated?” Emma asked.
Vince nodded again.
“Great,” Emma replied. “Here’s what I want you to do.” That’s when she explained her plan to Vince. “You understand?”
He took his iPhone from his dress suit pocket and made a note to himself. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I got it.”
Then he read the message back to her. When he finished, Emma handed him her credit card, crossing her fingers that VISA wouldn’t reject the charge. A few seconds later, she’d signed the receipt.
“What was that all about?” Jack asked when she returned to the table. “You checkin’ up on me? Worried that maybe I play too rough? Seriously, you wanna come and watch me play sometime? The hockey rink’s in Santa Rosa.”
Emma laughed. “I don’t think so. I know nothing about hockey. But I’ve planned a little surprise for after the opera. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Emma noticed that, for some reason, Jack looked disappointed. Like a kid whose mother missed his championship game. She thought to herself, some men never grow up.
The oysters were delicious. The champagne even better. In fact, Emma had never tasted such delicious champagne. It was so good, Emma wondered if it really was the taste. Or just that she felt like celebrating her brilliant idea.
Before Emma knew it, it was time to rush across the street to the Opera House. In her excitement, she almost forgot. They needed to get to their seats early. Right before the curtain rose, Clare Blumberg, City Opera’s Director, would announce the creation of the Baxter and Alexandra Buchanon Russian Arts Archive in memory of Natasha Vasiliev.
Jack and Emma had just taken their seats when Clare, Barry and Lexie appeared on the Opera House stage. Then Clare announced the breathtaking donation. Each year, the Baxter and Alexandra Buchanon Russian Arts Archive would fund a new production of one of the Russian opera classics. At the end of each cycle, the foundation would commission a new work by a contemporary Russian composer. All this, Clare announced, was dedicated to the memory of their dear friend and highly gifted soprano, the late Natasha Vasiliev.
At that point an image of Natasha was projected onto a large screen behind Clare and the Buchanons. Then Barry took the microphone from Clare and invited Natasha’s twin sister, Vera Vasiliev, to join them on stage. Sitting in the third row of the orchestra section, Emma saw all that transpired in vivid detail.
Clare, the director, looked striking in a long black silk suit accessorized with humongous South Sea pearls. Barry looked OK, but old, in his black tuxedo. Lexie, in contrast, looked stunning and trendy in a shell pink taffeta floor length strapless gown. Its tight bodice shimmered with row upon row of cut glass crystal beads and seed pearls. The papers later reported that it was a Gaultier couture.
In the end, however, it was Vera who stole the show. Emma could not imagine how she’d done it. Was it the hair, the makeup? Or just the jeweled choker hiding her fat ugly neck? She looked gorgeous. She commanded the stage like a star. Not exactly her sister’s star. The twins simply weren’t that identical. But, once on stage, some form of magic transformed the horsey nose, the too large mouth, into a face that was handsome. Certainly remarkable. And on Vera’s great figure, Natasha’s green silk dress with the plunging neckline fit like a glove.
Barry’s speech about Vera’s selfless dedication to her sister’s career, brought tears to many eyes. And to Vera’s as well. It was her moment of glory after so much hard work in her sister’s beautiful shadow.
All in all, the entire ceremony lasted less than ten minutes. Then Massimo, the conductor strode to the podium amid loud applause. The orchestra began the overture. And the curtain rose on Verdi’s Il Trovatore. The story of a gypsy scapegoat, a mother’s deadly mistake, and star-crossed lovers who meet a tragic end.
Once the singing started however, Emma had to admit that Chiara, the understudy, simply could not fill Natasha Vasiliev’s big Russian boots as the heroine, Leonora. Most of the time Chiara’s singing was fine. But the understudy’s first act aria, delivered flat on her back in the middle of the stage, simply didn’t project. Massimo should have restaged it. Of course, Emma thought, Chiara probably sang the difficult aria perfectly in the maestro’s bed.
The mezzo soprano in
the Roma role, however, stopped the show. At the intermission, the applause for Azucena, the gypsy, continued a full five minutes.
When they stopped clapping, Jack guided Emma into the aisle and upstairs to the Allegro lounge for more champagne. There they shook hands with the usual suspects. Mostly well-heeled seniors with a smattering of trophy wives.
And once or twice they even encountered a member of the young set. Like Julie and Piers. Piers looked handsome in his tux. To Emma’s delight, Julie looked adorable in a black velveteen beaded Prada gown.
Emma and Jack had just returned to their seats for the third act, when Emma caught sight of Vera Vasiliev hanging on Sacha Kuragin’s arm. Once again, the ugly twin looked radiant.
Chapter 26: Friday Night - Curtain Falls
When the curtain dropped on the final act of Il Trovatore, Emma noted that the audience’s response was tepid. Emma wasn’t surprised. Even the rousing Anvil Chorus had sounded blah. Only the gypsy got a standing ovation, accompanied by shouts of “bravo” and “bravissimo” from those who didn’t speak Italian. And “brava” and “bravissima” from those who did like Jack. All this for the poor Roma who threw her own infant into a raging bonfire, instead of the Count’s kidnapped son.
Jack left the Opera House shaking his head.
“I’m tellin’ you,” he said as he and Emma walked to the restaurant. “The music moves me to tears, but the plots are just plain goofy. Like I’m gonna believe this loving mother threw her own baby into a bonfire by mistake? Gimme a break!” He added, “It does, however, make me feel better about my own parenting. I may have worked too hard; but I didn’t toss my kid into a campfire by mistake, or even on purpose. And she turned out well, too.”
“Where does your daughter live?” Emma asked. Jack rarely mentioned her.
“In Palo Alto. She’s a hematologist. She runs her own lab at Stanford,” Jack added with pride, even though Emma hadn’t asked what his daughter did. “Cara is the reason I moved to California. After her mother died, she didn’t want me living so far away. She’s the one who suggested Blissburg. Close, but not too close. You know what I mean? I spend one night a week with her and her family at their place in Palo Alto. To be with the grandsons. And they have a weekend place in Calistoga, not so far away from where I live. It’s worked out fine.”