Where was Chris?
The darkness was becoming deeper. Maybe he’d had enough and retreated back to his original stance with her. She didn’t want to be left alone. She didn’t want to be without him.
“Please come,” she murmured, and looked at the phone. She could call Roy and Bo and ask if they’d heard from him. They’d be relieved to hear her voice.
She couldn’t call them.
The entrance hall lights were low. With her arms full of little Wimpy, she didn’t try to turn them up.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry….”
The song again. Sonnie’s stomach clenched. Had she heard someone sing the words, far away and in a brokenhearted voice? Or was the voice in her head? Yes, it was in her head.
Was she going mad, just like her family thought she was? They did think she was. Mom and Dad never said it, but they watched her with frightened faces, and Billy had already voiced her suspicions loud and clear.
“Keep it together, Sonnie. Up the stairs with you and find what you need for Wimpy. Poor baby.” She stopped halfway up the stairs. “You can’t replace a dead baby with a dog.” This was silly.
Schizophrenia had been mentioned.
Α lot of questions about voices had been asked. One psychiatrist had gone so far as to talk to her parents about the applications for cognitive therapy in schizophrenic cases.
There was nothing wrong with her head other than what her enemies had tried to convince her was wrong.
But who were her enemies?
With his trusting golden brown eyes on Sonnie, Wimpy lay supine in her arms. Deliberately averting her face from the end of the upper hall, where evidence of the fire showed, Sonnie went quickly into her bedroom and threw on every light. The curtains were already drawn.
Her medicine cabinet yielded nothing useful.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry….”
“Stop it.” She held Wimpy to her face, and the dog licked tears from her cheeks. “I’m jumpy is all.”
The nursery, which she hadn’t entered since the day of the accident, was next to the master bedroom. What she needed for the dog was in the changing table that had never been used.
There was a sound of rhythmic tapping but it didn’t come from the bedroom. With a heart that hammered painfully, she crept back to the upper hallway where the sound was louder. The carpenters had closed the door to the room where they were working. The tapping came from the other side. Why wouldn’t there be tapping or banging, or the flapping of Visquine? The place was under repair.
The time for self-indulgence was over. Sonnie turned the knob and went into the nursery. In the shadows she could see the antique bassinet she’d been so excited to find and cover with white eyelet frills. Α rocking chair was a still shape near the room’s one window.
With a hand that shook, she fumbled to put on a little lamp atop a chest of drawers. The lamp shade was covered with miniature versions of the frills on the bassinet, and the chest bore the carefully stenciled lambs Sonnie had applied. More lambs cavorted along the tops of the walls. The ceiling was bright blue with unlikely, fluffy white clouds painted freehand by an artist she’d found working in the courtyard near the Hog’s Breath off Duval.
The sight of it all struck her hard, harder than she had expected. She set Wimpy down on the changing table, kept a hand on the dog, and wiped tears from the corners of her own eyes. The locket at her neck felt hot, and she lifted it to look at the inscription on the back. In time the grieving would pass. If the baby had been lost under different circumstances, perhaps the healing would have been faster. Sonnie doubted it. She found a jar of medicated pads, opened it, and turned Wimpy upside down again. The little animal cried when the antiseptic stung his injured belly, but he never as much as showed a tooth. Rather he licked Sonnie’s hand whenever it got close enough.
The ointment that should have been used on a baby’s bottom would probably work well enough on Wimpy’s sores. Sonnie slathered on a thick coat and saw the animal relax. “There you are, babe,” she said. “Isn’t that better?”
Fluffy lambs hung from a mobile attached to the back of the changing table. Sonnie wound it up and smiled sadly at the tinkling notes of “The Cat and the Fiddle.”
“Υou can’t replace a dead baby with a dog….”
She snatched up Wimpy and held him tightly. That wasn’t what she was trying to do. This was convenient; that was all. And there was certainly no other use for any of this. “Down you go,” she said. “Better go eat.” There was dog food in the kitchen now.
The dog scuttled from the room, and his claws clicked on the stairs where the carpets had been taken up and sent out to be cleaned. Time to push aside the goblins and gremlins and get ready for bed.
Where was Chris?
Her breath grew short. What if something had happened to him? She squelched her natural reserve and picked up the phone. “Roy,” she said when he answered. “Um, just checking my schedule. I’m on tomorrow, aren’t I?”
“You surely are, little girl. And don’t you be late.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Um, how are you guys doing?”
“Good, good. How are you doing?”
“Good, too. Roy—have you heard from Chris?”
She listened to reggae for a long time before Roy answered. “Isn’t he with you?”
The slow revolution of her stomach sickened Sonnie.
“You said he had errands to run.”
“Uh-huh. I did, didn’t I? Must have been a lot of errands.”
“Roy.” Her voice sounded small in her own ears. “I’m worried about Chris. Why would he take so long?”
The man let out a sigh. “My brother gets preoccupied. One thing leads to another with him. Don’t worry about him. He’ll come walking in here with no idea he’s put anyone out. O’ course, when the two of you—if the two of you come to some sort of agreement, you’ll have to lay out your feelings on things like that. I recommend no tolerance, take it or leave it. He’ll take it.”
“Thanks, Roy,” Sonnie said, tοο freaked out to continue talking. “Of course he’ll show up.” She hung up again.
Dragging her feet, she left the nursery, deliberately without shutting it up, and returned to her bedroom. Should she get ready for bed? There were things she and Chris needed to work out about his staying here.
If he came.
Where was he?
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry….”
She had to fight against tears. Schizophrenics heard voices, and they couldn’t usually differentiate between whether the voices were real or imagined. Was it a male or a female voice that sang? She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if it was her own voice she heard.
A madwoman. Madwomen got locked away. She’d be sent to a comfortable place where they would keep her peaceful, probably with drugs, and speak to her like a difficult child. And if she tried to leave, they’d put her in one of those jackets. In summer she’d sit in the gardens surrounded by flowers—and mad people. And in time she probably would be mad herself.
After locking herself into the bathroom, she took a rapid shower and toweled off as quickly as she could. Already too hot, she put on a cotton nightie and robe and combed her hair back. The scars on her face showed up livid. She’d grown even paler since she’d been here. Her bottles of perfume were still on the counter, and she selected Cartier’s So Pretty to spray on her wrists.
The phone was ringing in the bedroom.
Sonnie tore open the bathroom door and rushed to answer. “Yes. Sonnie, here.”
“Where have you been, cara? I tried to reach you earlier.” She wound the phone cord so tightly around her hand it hurt.
One of the French doors swung outward and crashed against the wall.
Sonnie jumped. “Romano?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you think I’m Romano, my sweet one. You will destroy me.” For some time there was only the sound of breathing.
Sonnie felt her way to sit on the
edge of the bed.
“Do you hear me?” the voice shouted abruptly. “Answer at once. Do you hear me, Sonnie Giacano?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good. I will not tolerate stupidity from anyone. Least of all my wife.”
She slid from the bed to sit on the floor. Even that had no substance. When she plucked at the carpet, she couldn’t hold the pile. “Frank?”
“Who else would it be? Listen to me. Listen to me very carefully. Within a few days Ι will be leaving Miami and coming into Key West. Be ready because I will be in a hurry. When I call, it will be time for you to get to the airport. I’ll be looking for the Volvo. Do you understand me?”
All the same words, the ones he’d said before—about nine months before. Sonnie shook so fiercely she couldn’t focus her eyes. “I understand. Where have you been?”
“Been? You are not yourself. You know where I’ve been. Busy. The tournaments keep me very busy. I will need your help and you will give it to me. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes. But you were kidnapped by terrorists.” She must not scream.
His laughter sent spasms into the muscles of her back. “You have quite the imagination, cara mia. Have you been plotting against me? Is that what all this is about? You don’t want me back so you have tried to get rid of me? Well, you have failed.”
“I don’t want that, Frank. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
“Good. Then I shall see you soon. Wait for my call.”
“Yes, Frank.” Everywhere she looked, objects swelled and shrank. The phone was slippery in her hands.
“That’s very good, Sonnie. I have to go, but before I do, one question—do I have a son or a daughter?”
She cried out, but he’d already hung up.
The whole room swung. She crawled to the bathroom and threw up.
Who would believe Frank had called? No one. If she spoke of it, they’d have another reason to say she was mad, another reason to lock her away.
The bathroom floor was blessedly cool, but it wasn’t solid beneath her knees. She clung to the toilet bowl. What if he called again? He’d said he would call again.
“No.” Her voice echoed. Chris would understand. He’d believe her. No, he’d say he did, but he wouldn’t. She’d see pain in his eyes, maybe even fear. Chris wanted to help her. He wanted her in his life, but he’d be driven away in the end.
She managed to pull herself up to the sink and turn on cold water. Sluicing her face and neck didn’t make a difference to the heat inside her.
Romano needed to know Frank had called.
But would he believe it?
Her legs wouldn’t hold her. On her hands and knees again, she made it back beside the bed. Tears fell. She was mad. She had to be.
Call Romano. Whether he believed her or not, he had a right to be told.
She dialed his number at the club. When he picked up she almost fainted with relief. He would help her.
“Hello,” his distinctive voice said.
“It’s Sonnie,” she told him. “You’ve been gone.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then he said, “I took a job here. It’s keeping me busier than I want to be. I don’t intend to stay long.”
She wasn’t interested in his job.
The other French door flew outward. The two took turns clattering against the walls. A hot wind swirled into the room. “Sοnnie?” Romano said. “What is it?”
“Frank,” she said, choking on her own tears. “He called me.”
“What?” His shock was palpable. “What the hell are you talking about? Frank called?”
“He did. And, Romano, he said all the things he said when he called and said he was coming before. The time I had the accident.”
“Νο, Sonnie. Look. Billy’s right on this one: you need help. Where are you?”
She shouldn’t have called him. There was no help anywhere.
“Sonnie? Answer me. Where are you?”
“In my house.” She would not give up. “And I haven’t lost my mind. The phone rang and it was Frank.” She wouldn’t tell him what Frank had said about the baby. Romano wouldn’t believe her for sure if she did. Frank would know the baby was due many months ago. And he’d never shown any interest in their child before.
“I should come to you and bring Jim Lesley.”
“If you do, I won’t let you in. And I’ll call the police to have you kept away.”
“You won’t do that.”
“If you try to force my hand, I will do it.”
Romano made a sound as if he smothered a curse before he said, “Put Talon on the phone.”
As if he could be sure Chris was there. “Chris isn’t here.”
“Oh, yeah? What happened? He get bored?”
“He’s busy elsewhere.” Why would Romano talk about Chris now? “Didn’t you hear what I said? It was Frank, I tell you. That means he’s alive and well.”
“If it were Frank, he’d already have called me.”
Romano had stung Sonnie more than once with talk about how much closer he was to Frank than she could ever be. But Romano was good to her, and she mustn’t forget that. He didn’t often show his concern in gentle ways, but that was because he didn’t know how. “Okay,” she said. “Sorry to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me, except because you frighten me. You need help, little one. And I’m going to make sure you get it.”
She couldn’t argue, not now. “Good night, Romano. I feel better already. We’ll talk tomorrow maybe, huh?”
“Absolutely. Get some sleep. And Sonnie—Frank didn’t call, sweet, so start deciding to let me help you. Sonnie, think of it. Frank and publicity are blood brothers. Don’t you think that if he’d been released from captivity every news staff in the world would already know? He’d be lining up interviews—and endorsements.” Romano laughed. “There are things about Frank that never change. ‘Take care of business first’ is his motto.”
Once more she hung up the phone.
Raindrops flew in from the night. She ought to close the doors.
Instead she crawled on top of the bed and curled up where she could watch both entrances to the room. Α scrape and a tinkling sounded. The tinkling happened again.
Wind chimes? That was what it sounded like, only it was inside the house.
Α crash came from the lower floor—probably the hallway. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Sonnie got to her feet and stumbled to the landing. She looked over the banister to the open floor below, and she screamed. Facedown, his arms and legs at unnatural angles, lay a man in a sequined black cape that spread wide over the tiled floor. Draped on the back of the cape was what looked like another silk scarf, this one brilliant yellow.
Gasping through her open mouth, Sonnie made slowly for the top of the stairs. She’d find the strength to help him. She held the banisters with both hands and crept down several steps. Her angle on the figure changed, and she saw what had been invisible from above: the scarf was pinned to the man’s back by a knife, a knife driven in to the hilt.
If she could catch enough breath, she’d scream again. She glanced around and up, searching for where the man had fallen from. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the domed skylight. The chandelier swung gently to and fro. Long, slender prisms glinted. Α little more motion and they’d tinkle.
She took another step, and another.
Blond hair, grown long, rested in curls against the floor. She couldn’t see a face.
In one hand was gripped a long-stemmed calla lily.
From the kitchen came Wimpy. He trailed a multicolored silk scarf from his teeth.
Shaking so violently she couldn’t keep her teeth together, Sonnie continued on down.
The lights went out, and she slipped.
Banging each step, she slid sideways and crumpled to the stairs. She hit every remaining tread on the way down until she lay on the cold slate tiles at the bottom. “Help,” she said, but knew n
o one heard. Softness passed over her face and hair. Silk.
But she wasn’t mad. Not feet from her lay a man who must have fallen from above, a man who had no right to be there at all.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry….”
At last her voice returned and she cried aloud. Cried for help, cried for Chris. “Help,” she cried again and again. Her hair had come free of the band and hung, wet, in her face.
“Die. Go to your baby. You know you want to. It’s time, Sonnie. Go to your baby.” The voice was faint, but clear.
The softness met her face again. She got to her feet, only to walk into hands, hands that pushed her, hands that caught her and pushed her back again, and hands that stroked her. Her face, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. The hands evaded her futile attempts to ward them off. “Stop it. Please stop it.”
The last shreds of control spun away and she screamed afresh and turned in circles, punching at air and stamping her feet. She turned and turned until she thought she would be sick again. Laughter sounded. All around her, then gradually climbing as if it rose into the air.
“Stop it. Stop it, Sonnie.”
Another voice sent to torment her. She struck out again and met solid flesh and bone. “You won’t kill me,” she said. “You won’t because you’ll get caught this time. I’m not mad. I’m not.”
She was released.
The lights came on and she threw out her hands, ready to ward off the next attack. She stared at the middle of the hall floor.
“Gone,” she said. “No, no, he can’t be gone. I didn’t make him up.” She burst into tears. “He was there.” She pointed to the empty floor.
Strong hands grasped her elbows from behind and slammed her back against a solid body.
Sonnie felt her face crumple, her mind close down. She was falling.
Twenty-one
She fought him.
“Who?” he said. “Who was here?”
With her hair hanging in her face, Sonnie struggled until he had to let her go or hurt her.
The sounds that came from her throat had to be painful. She was wearing herself out while he watched. “Sonnie, it’s okay,” he told her. “Sonnie, be still. Look at me.”
She kept on coming. Her fists didn’t do any damage, except to their owner. He let her pummel his forearm. “Sonnie. It’s me, Chris. Look at me.”
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