Keepsake

by Linda Barlow

  “Now there’s a comforting thought,” Blackthorn said.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Oh, damn, not again,” April muttered to herself. She was bent over her desk, in the process of adding figures on a small calculator. Apparently, she’d been making some minor mistake while entering a long column of numbers, since she kept coming out with a different sum.

  She sighed, wishing she knew how to use one of those computer programs that made bookkeeping and other financial matters so easy. But so far she’d gone through life without learning the difference between a RAM and a ROM, whatever those were.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Charlie, who had just come into her office. He’d been very helpful over the past few days. Any questions that she had, he knew the answers.

  “I’m just stumbling over some numbers. No big deal. I was checking our finances.”

  “Delores does the books. She’s a trained accountant.”

  “That’s great. Delores has a lot of talents.” Delores, she’d discovered, was the general factotum around here. She was a skilled secretary, an organized office manager, she was a whiz with computers, and now it seemed she knew bookkeeping as well. “I’ll have to get her to take me through this stuff.” She glanced at her daily calendar. “I think I have some time later this afternoon.”

  “If you don’t mind my suggesting it, there are a lot of other things you should maybe think about doing first,” Charlie said. “We’ve got to get moving on that new video, and if the hotel in Maui doesn’t get a signed contract back from us soon, they won’t hold our block of rooms.”

  “I understand,” said April. “But I’d really like to go over the books while the subject’s fresh in my mind.”

  “Well, I’m sure Delores’ll be glad to explain everything to you.” He sounded just a tiny bit patronizing, and April hid a smile. One thing she was good at was the nuts and bolts of managing money. Although she’d already discovered that Power Perspectives was infinitely more complicated than the Poison Pen Bookshop, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t be able to create the same order out of chaos on a large scale as she had on a small.

  Both Charlie and Delores were in for a bit of a surprise.

  “Changing the subject, I’ve got a question for you,” Charlie said.

  She looked up.

  “Do you happen to know anything about the book that your mother was writing at the time of her death?”

  April shook her head. “What book?”

  “A manuscript. I don’t know the subject—something autobiographical, I believe. I had a call a little while ago from her editor inquiring about it.”

  “No one’s mentioned it to me,” April said.

  “Her editor is quite anxious to get her hands on the manuscript. Under the circumstances, I guess she thinks it’ll be a big bestseller.”

  “Well, my mother certainly led a very interesting life,” April said thoughtfully. “She traveled in elegant circles, she knew a lot of famous people, and now she’s been dramatically murdered. As a bookseller, I could probably sell quite a few copies myself. The self-help titles she wrote have done very well.”

  “Well, the manuscript seems to have disappeared. Unless it’s turned up among Rina’s effects.”

  April frowned. There was definitely a suggestive note, underlying his words. “Why do I get the feeling that you think I know where it is? This is the first I’ve heard of an autobiography.”

  Charlie looked abashed. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to imply anything. It’s just that I wondered if the manuscript may have been among the personal effects that were left to you by your mother. Apparently a large manila envelope was placed in the hands of her lawyer, and then turned over to you?”

  “That’s right. But the envelope didn’t contain a manuscript.”

  April wasn’t going to tell him that all it had contained had been a faded photograph in a cheap frame. Nor that the cheap and faded keepsake was now sitting on the table right next to her bed.

  “Are you sure this manuscript exists? Lots of people who claim to be writing a book are really just fantasizing about doing so.”

  He nodded. “Good point. But she mentioned it to several people, and after all, she did complete several other books.”

  “Have you asked Armand about it?”

  “I suggested to the editor that she contact him.”

  “Well, I’ll take a look around the apartment, but I haven’t seen anything resembling, a manuscript. Before I moved in both the police and the FBI had been through the place. Armand, too, I believe. They didn’t leave much.”

  “I’ll call the editor back and tell her. Maybe it’ll turn up.”

  April mused about the missing manuscript as Charlie left. An autobiography? Would there have been anything in the book, she wondered, about her?

  And why, if it had indeed existed, was the manuscript missing?

  “Father, what I’m telling you, dammit, is that the corporation is in trouble.”

  “I would appreciate it if you would not use that tone with me.”

  Christian raised his eyebrows in exasperation. Armand de Sevigny was such a stickler for courtesy and civility that he probably believed it would be impolite for a bank officer to call in a few overdue loans.

  He and his father were meeting in the conference room on the top floor of De Sevigny Ltd. Down on a lower floor were the offices of Power Perspectives, which Christian tended to avoid. He had no desire to tangle with his bitch of a sister or her love-struck boyfriend. April Harrington was somewhat more intriguing. Attractive, too, with those long legs and that sylph-like slenderness. Of course, she was probably over her head in Rina’s job, but he was secretly hoping that she found a way to blow Isobelle right out of the water.

  Christian had never forgiven his sister for introducing Miranda, his wife, to her own disreputable lifestyle. If Isobelle hadn’t insisted on taking Miranda to those vile clubs she frequented, seducing her into a fascination with kinky sex, the damn divorce and all the subsequent unpleasantness would never have happened.

  Miranda might still be alive today.

  With an effort, he refocused. “Look, Father, you have got to take this situation more seriously. We are overextended in just about every direction. I’ve set up a meeting for next week with our accounting firm. I’d like you to hear it directly from them, since you seem to have so much trouble believing me.”

  Somewhat to his surprise, Armand nodded. “Very well, let’s have the meeting.” He looked down at his hands. “This has always been a profitable business,” he said.

  “Times have changed. We’ve had a rough few years. There are signs that things may be picking up—certainly the economy is improving—but we must adopt some emergency belt-tightening measures if we’re to ride it out until our profit margins improve. Our first priority is to solve our cash-flow problem. If we don’t come up with the interest on several of our biggest loans the banks could call them in and then we’d be seriously screwed.”

  “Are you telling me that no subsidiary of De Sevigny Ltd. is turning a profit?”

  “Well, no, not exactly—it’s not that bad—we have several profitable ventures. It’s just that taken together, they’re falling short of those that are losing money.”

  “Then let’s get rid of the poor performers. Cut off the limbs, if necessary, to save the body.”

  This was exactly what Christian was hoping to hear him say. Trim away the deadwood. Downsize. Hell, everybody was doing it.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  “We must be practical,” Armand said. “Perhaps, in the aftermath of Sabrina’s death I have been denying the true situation. If so, I must pull myself together, mustn’t I? You are right to insist upon this.”

  This was a switch, Christian thought. Usually, his father treated his opinions with skepticism, if not disdain. Was it possible that after all these years he was finally getting through to him?

  “You know, it’s really to
o bad Rina insisted on keeping Power Perspectives a separate entity,” Christian mused. “I’d love to have those profits rolling into De Sevigny Ltd.” He looked at his father curiously. “Why did she insist on that, by the way? When she started her company, De Sevigny Ltd. was still pretty golden. I’m sure you would have backed her. Why was it so important to her to do it on her own?”

  Armand shrugged. His expression was sad, and he seemed very frail. “She was seizing her own power. I guess she no longer had any use for mine.”

  For the first time in his life Christian noticed that his father seemed tired… and old.

  April jerked her head up. She had not heard the door to her office open. Armand was there on the threshold, dressed in a dapper suit and tie, but looking pale, as if he were not getting enough rest.

  “Forgive me if I startled you,” he said.

  “No, no, it’s nothing,” April assured him. She rose and came around her desk to greet him. He embraced her warmly, his eyes crinkling as he gave her his Maurice Chevalier smile.

  “I was upstairs in the main offices, consulting with my son. I thought it might be nice to stop by and see how you were doing.”

  “Thanks. I’m doing well. I’m actually enjoying myself.”

  “The job suits you,” he told her. “There is spring in your step and a sparkle in your eye that is delightful for a man to look upon, cherie’’

  “Well, thank you very much, sir. It’s more interesting here than I expected, actually.”

  “That pleases me. You will take to this, I’m sure, as— how do you say it in English—as the fish takes to water.”

  “I don’t know about that. Sit down, please. Can I get you something?”

  “No, no, I’m fine.” Yet he seemed slightly distressed, and he paced nervously around the room before settling on the edge of a chair. “How are you getting along with the others? My daughter, she is behaving herself?”

  “There is some tension, but that is to be expected,” she answered tactfully. “Charlie is easy to work with, though. And Delores is terrific. She’s an excellent secretary, very organized. She seems to be doing a good job with the bookkeeping, too. I was just going over a few things with her in that area, as a matter of fact.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You are familiar with accounting procedures?”

  “As the proprietor of a small bookshop, I had to be. Yes, indeed. Financial management is one of my favorite aspects of business, as a matter of fact.” She grinned. “I should have worked on Wall Street.”

  “Indeed?” He smiled. “You continue to impress me, mademoiselle.”

  “I see no reason why the finances of a fifty-million-dollar corporation can’t be managed as successfully as the finances of one that does only one percent of that. Although Delores keeps excellent accounts, we haven’t yet addressed the issue of whether our costs can be trimmed and our overall expenses reduced. I have to admit that I still don’t have a very good overall picture of what all our various expenses are—” she smiled “—somewhat to Charlie’s annoyance.”

  “I see,” he said, nodding. “Well, good for you, my dear.” He stood, wandered to the window, looked out, then turned. “And the apartment? Is it satisfactory? Are you enjoying it? Is there anything that you need?”

  “It’s a lovely apartment. I like it very much, and I’m glad to have the opportunity to live in my mother’s ‘room of her own.’ As you suggested, it is helping me in my quest for understanding,” she added with a wry smile.

  “Excellent.” He returned to his chair and resumed his seat.

  She noticed his hands. Was it her imagination, or were they trembling? How different he seemed from the dapper, energetic Armand de Sevigny who had joined his wife on the Power Perspectives dais just minutes before her assassination. She felt a sudden and unexpected wave of sympathy for him. The loss of his wife had drained him of his own vitality.

  “The only thing that continues to be difficult for me is that I still feel haunted by my mother’s death,” she said slowly. “It’s hanging over everybody’s head, I guess. I don’t know whom to talk to, whom to trust.”

  “I don’t blame you. My own trust is given only to a select few. I’ve been betrayed too often.” His voice was not very steady, and April wanted to reach out and offer him her comfort. “My advice to you is to be extremely careful about whom you give yours to.”

  “Good advice. I don’t want to end up the way she did.”

  “How sad to have to think of that. Yet you must. And trust is something you feel in your heart. It has no logical component.” He paused. “If you choose to trust me, I will do my utmost to be worthy. If you don’t, I will certainly understand. You are in an unenviable position, and to trust too easily could be dangerous for you.”

  She knew he was right. Trust never came easily for her. If she had been more able to conquer her fear that everyone whom she allowed to become important in her life would, sooner or later, betray or abandon her, her personal life would have been considerably happier.

  “Perhaps, my dear, I have asked too much of you. Perhaps we all have. You are a young and vital woman. You should not be burdened by such worries.”

  “Strangely enough, I like the job. It’s challenging. I’m not sure what I think of Rina’s theories, but I am drawn to the idea that it’s possible to change one’s bad habits, focus upon one’s strengths and talents, and turn one’s life around. It’s such a comfortable fantasy—the thought that one might be able to remake oneself and start over with people.”

  “But a fantasy nevertheless,” he said gently.

  She looked at him. “You’re a cynic.”

  “No, a realist. My wife was an idealist. Her entire philosophy is set upon an overly optimistic base.”

  Interesting, April thought. Everybody seemed to have a different view of Rina. She was a bitch, she was an angel, she was a pragmatist, she was an idealist. No wonder she wouldn’t come into focus. She had been something different to everyone.

  Which reminded her… “Charlie asked me this morning if I knew anything about a manuscript that my mother was writing at the time of her death. Apparently her editor telephoned, asking about it.”

  “I thought her latest self-help book was already in production at her publisher.”

  “This wasn’t one of the Power Perspectives series. It was an autobiography. Was she writing such a book, as far as you know?”

  Armand pressed his palms together and rested his chin upon them. “I suppose it’s possible. Sabrina was always writing something—books, speeches, articles. The computer was one of her favorite toys.”

  “I hate computers,” April confessed. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only one on the planet who doesn’t know how to operate one.”

  “I am similarly ignorant. My son is scathing about my refusal to deal with electronic robotry, but I’m too old to change. Sabrina was far more modern in her thinking than I.”

  “So there was no autobiography among her things after her death?”

  “No. Although, now that you mention it, she did occasionally mention that she would like to write her memoirs someday. I had assumed she intended to wait until her public life was somewhat less active. I don’t believe she’d started work on the project, but I could be wrong.”

  Charlie had seemed convinced that the manuscript existed. Was this another sign of distance between husband and wife? What had their relationship really been like? How much time had her mother actually spent at the West Side apartment? Were Rina and Armand estranged?

  They chatted politely for several more minutes, then Armand rose, kissed her gallantly on both cheeks, and bid her adieu.

  As he left, his shoulders seemed stooped, as if he bore a great burden on his back.

  April had wanted to hug him, but she’d held back, afraid of offending his dignity.

  And besides, it was confusing to feel such a pull of affection and sympathy for the man who had stolen away her mother.

  Chapter Tw
elve

  Quietly, Kate replaced the receiver of the extension phone in her bedroom. She curled up on the bed. She was coming to visit. Mrs. Tulane. Daisy. She’d called to tell Daddy what flight she’d be arriving on. And there wasn’t anything Kate could do to stop it because Daddy thought he knew everything and he never listened to her.

  How could he be dating a woman as phony as Daisy Tulane? It was disgusting. He must be desperate. “I hate her,” Kate muttered.

  Maybe she could figure out a way to get rid of her somehow.

  And then she’d find somebody better for him. Somebody younger. Somebody suitable. Somebody real. Somebody who would take his mind off the lady politician who was always smiling and cooing and pretending to be something she wasn’t.

  Kate reached under her bed and pulled out Gran’s laptop computer. She turned it on and called up a file and started typing rapidly:

  “I’ve found the perfect woman for my father. Her name is April, and some people think she might have killed Gran, but I know she didn’t do it, even if Gran did abandon her when she was my age. I’m probably the only person around here who knows what it feels like to be abandoned by your mother. It makes you angry and it makes you sad, but it doesn’t make you a murderer.

  “She’s really cool and I think she’s pretty. She has dark red hair that curls and looks heavy. (Mine just hangs and it won’t stay the way I comb it and even the barrettes slide out.) She’s got big eyes and a pretty smile and I think Daddy would be crazy not to like her. Of course I don’t know if she’d like him (personally I think he’s a geek) but Gran told me that he’s actually handsome and that women think he’s hot.

  “You wouldn’t know it, though, from the way he acts. He’s started seeing Daisy Tulane and she’s a total loser. Worse, in fact. She’s—”

  Kate stopped, thought for a moment, then closed the file. She’d been planning to write more, but she had a better idea.

  She went downstairs. Her father was in the library hunched over his computer. “Hey, Dad.”

  He jumped and she realized she’d startled him. Uh-oh. She hoped he wasn’t going to yell at her. Seemed like all they’d been doing lately was yelling at each other.