‘It’ll soon be over,’ he told her.
‘I know.’ Mildred’s voice was quiet but steady.
‘I’m proud of you,’ he said softly.
She pulled a self-deprecating face, and he told her that he loved her, and she told him the same, and then he kissed her forehead, and Benjamin assured them both that he would look after her, and then they were through the door and gone from sight.
Suddenly, David felt intensely nervous.
Lying on the gurney in the room outside the OR, staring up at a clock on the wall telling her it was now six thirty-three, something remarkable happened to Mildred.
Benjamin was still hovering, and two nurses were busy with something over to her right, when Dr Ethan Adams appeared out of nowhere.
And something inside her changed.
She felt better. Safer. And it was not because that injection had suddenly taken effect.
It was because of him.
There he stood in his green scrubs, looking as clean and spruce as if his own nanny had just dispatched him, and he bent slightly from the waist and spoke to her.
‘This is going to be much easier than you could possibly imagine, Mrs Becket,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve had general anesthesia before, so you already know you’ll go off to sleep in no time, and when you wake, it will all be done, and I’ll come and talk to you again.’
The words were no different than Mildred had expected, but the amazing thing was that she believed them. She believed him, because suddenly, for the first time since they’d first met, Ethan Adams’s eyes were not just sharp and keen, but kind, too, even empathetic, and it occurred to Mildred that maybe this was where he felt at his most confident, became most able to communicate with his patients.
The anesthesiologist – a friendly woman with a gentle touch and reassuring smile – began to talk to her then, but Mildred found she was hardly listening.
It was OK, she thought, just before she began counting backward as instructed. It was going to be OK after all, and what a foolish old woman she’d been, worrying about . . .
She slept.
Cathy led the way out onto the terrace, sat down and unscrewed the top of her bottle. ‘So you’re serious about photojournalism,’ she said.
‘Very.’ Chauvin sat to her left, set his camera down on the table.
‘So long as you’re not practicing the journalism part now,’ she said.
‘You looked very serious as you said that,’ he said.
‘I guess I am,’ Cathy said.
‘I can understand why,’ Chauvin said.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that I know a little of what you’ve been through.’
Cathy put down her bottle. ‘Let’s get this cleared away,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to talk to a virtual stranger about old personal business.’
‘I’m not exactly a stranger,’ Chauvin said. ‘I’m a friend of your mom’s, and I spent time with your father this morning.’
‘Only because he was too polite to refuse,’ Cathy said.
‘Ouch,’ Chauvin said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Cathy said. ‘That was rude.’
‘But truthful.’
‘Not really.’ She felt guilty. ‘Sam wouldn’t have agreed to the tagalong if he hadn’t wanted to. He wanted to be helpful.’
‘And he was,’ Chauvin said. ‘And I met the rest of the family last night, but had too little time with you, and I’m only here to take a couple of snaps for my Florida album, and then I’ll be out of your hair.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘OK.’
‘Which is gorgeous, by the way.’
‘Oh, stop.’ She just stopped herself reaching up to touch her hair, which had been cut very short, but was now a kind of midway shaggy bob.
‘I like your style altogether,’ Chauvin said.
He picked up the camera again.
‘You’ve taken your snaps,’ Cathy said. ‘Please, no more.’
And Chauvin sighed.
Grace sat in a waiting room with David.
The place had every comfort, except, of course, the one that every waiting relative or close friend ever really wanted when they sat in a room like this. Namely good news about their loved one.
Not that Mildred was in any danger, but still, when David had called earlier sounding stressed about the delay, she’d promised that she would still come and keep him company when they did finally take Mildred to the OR.
Now, he looked wretched.
‘It’s seeing her so vulnerable,’ he explained. ‘I wish the shoe was on the other foot. She’s always been so strong for me.’
‘As you have for her – for all of us – when anything’s wrong,’ Grace said. ‘No woman could ask for a more supportive husband. Besides which, Mildred’s anxieties aside, we both know this is a straightforward and almost miraculously effective surgical procedure. And you don’t have to worry about her fears, because she’s sleeping.’
‘Which is the reason I encouraged general anesthesia, but now . . .’
‘Mildred’s healthy,’ Grace said. ‘It’s a short anesthetic.’
‘I know,’ David said. ‘Still, things sometimes go wrong.’
‘Very seldom.’ She looked at the craggy face with its hawk nose, remembered other times when he’d had terrible reasons to be fearful, saw that he was afraid now. ‘You really are nervous.’
‘I am.’ David looked puzzled. ‘Mildred hasn’t talked about it, but I’ve sensed that her fears have snowballed into something stronger these last few days. It’s been almost as if she had some kind of warning intuition.’
‘So now that she’s happily asleep, you’ve taken on her irrational fear.’ Grace reached for his hand, squeezed it gently. ‘Over soon.’
‘Taking pictures is just what I do,’ Chauvin said to Cathy. ‘It’s become second nature, when I see something or someone special. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’
‘You did, a little,’ she said. ‘But it’s OK.’
‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Where is Saul, by the way? I was hoping to see him too. And Mel, of course.’
‘He’s on his way home,’ Cathy said.
And then she flushed, because she was not a seasoned liar, and the small untruth made her more uncomfortable. She stood, picked up her water, walked back into the living room.
‘Are you OK?’ Chauvin asked from the terrace.
‘Sure,’ she said.
She remembered, then, that she hadn’t turned on her phone since leaving JWU, so she retrieved it from her bag and did so now.
She watched Chauvin stand up, wander over to the edge of the terrace and gaze out over the Intracoastal, expected him to take some shots, especially as it was overcast, and Florida skies were often fascinating when spring storms threatened.
The jazz tone on her phone told her she had messages.
She listened to the first, which was from one of her college friends, asking if she wanted to run with her early next morning.
The next was from Grace.
Cathy listened.
‘Cathy, I may be overreacting,’ the voicemail began.
She went on listening.
Chauvin turned away from the Intracoastal, picked up his camera and stepped back inside.
He raised the Nikon again, focused on her, made some adjustments.
Then started shooting again, rapidly, one photo after another.
Cathy heard Grace’s message to the end, kept hold of the phone.
‘I thought I asked you not to take any more,’ she said tightly.
‘Just a couple more,’ Chauvin said. ‘Please.’
‘No more,’ Cathy said.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Cathy said. ‘I’d like you to stop.’
He lowered the camera. ‘Was that a message from your mom?’
‘I can’t see that’s your business.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ Chauvin said. ‘And I can imagine what she said, because I was taking
photos of her, too, just a while ago, and she became a little testy about it. And then, when I remarked about your amazing resemblance to the other Grace in my life, and said how much fun it would be to photograph you as . . .’
‘I think I’d like you to go now,’ Cathy said.
‘Have you guessed who that other Grace is, Cathy? Only you’re very young, so you might not think of her right away, but as I told your mother, you look so much the way I imagine she might have looked as a young woman in this century.’
Cathy looked back at her phone, saw there was a second message.
‘Would you consider posing for me,’ Chauvin asked, ‘as the princess?’
Realization struck Cathy. ‘God,’ she said. ‘You’re talking about Grace Kelly.’
‘Of course I am.’
She laughed.
‘That’s just what your mother did,’ Chauvin said.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Cathy said.
Her phone – her landline – rang.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, walked into the kitchen, picked up.
‘Cathy, are you OK?’ Sam’s voice asked her.
She heard Chauvin’s soft tread moving from the living room into the hall.
And then the sound of the front door, opening, then closing.
‘Hold on,’ she told Sam.
She walked into the hallway, checked the living room and the terrace, just in case he’d played a trick, was waiting for her.
‘Cathy?’ Sam said sharply.
‘I’m OK,’ she said.
She checked the rest of the apartment, grimly aware that a normal young woman, who’d led a less scarred life, would not be going to these absurd lengths . . .
No one there.
Chauvin had gone, without another word.
Cathy went back out into the small hallway, looked at the front door.
Locked it.
‘Hi, Sam,’ she said. ‘If this is about Grace’s weird Frenchman, he’s been and gone, and I’m perfectly fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ Sam hesitated. ‘He isn’t still there?’
Cathy laughed. ‘You’re even more paranoid than I am.’
‘Only your mother thinks he’s got some obsession about—’
‘Grace Kelly,’ Cathy said. ‘Tell me about it.’
Saul returned Sam’s call, said that he’d been delivering a walnut cabinet when Sam had left his message, but that he and Mel were at the apartment now, and Cathy was fine.
‘So you can stop stressing, bro,’ Saul said.
Yet still, Sam left Martinez waiting at the office in case anything transpired from the Interpol inquiry, jumped in his car and drove north to Sunny Isles Beach, checked around their building, inside the garage and around the pool area, then got back in the car and drove up and down North Bay Road and around several blocks, looking for a white Ford Focus rental.
It was seven-thirty, and the light was starting to fade, but he was as satisfied as he could be that Chauvin was gone, and unless Martinez hit on something, there was certainly nothing official to be done about his visits to Grace or Cathy. They had both invited Chauvin in, and even if they had both asked him to stop photographing, taking too many snapshots of acquaintances might make him a bore and just possibly a weirdo, but did not constitute any crime or even misdemeanor that Sam could think of.
Still, Chauvin could whistle for any more help with his research if he asked.
And for now, Sam had more important things to dwell on.
The squad’s continuing lack of progress in finding and stopping Black Hole.
Marie Nieper still on the missing list.
Felicia Delgado still not ready to talk.
Mildred’s surgery was probably over by now, but David had Grace for company, so Sam wasn’t needed at the Adams Clinic, though he would check with his father in a while before deciding whether or not to drop by the rehearsal.
They weren’t running his scenes tonight, but he liked showing interest.
And Billie Smith was still on his mind.
A cup of coffee was what he suddenly felt he needed. The real thing, not decaf. Maybe even a shot of espresso, his very first since giving up, and maybe a little sharpening of his senses now might sweep away some of this useless negativity, help him pinpoint something they’d all missed so far.
Mildred was in recovery, and would soon be back up in her room.
Ethan Adams had come to find David.
‘Everything went beautifully,’ he assured him, smiling at Grace.
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Relieved, David shook his hand. ‘I’m very grateful to you, and Mildred will be too.’
‘Just doing my job,’ Adams said.
David introduced Grace to the doctor, and Adams made a courtly bow from the waist and told her it was a pleasure, then returned his attention to David.
‘Your wife may have a few difficult days, simply because of her issues. The drops are a simple matter for most, but . . .’ He gave a small shrug.
‘I don’t think she’ll mind, now that it’s done,’ David said.
Adams smiled. ‘Let’s hope so.’
‘And when she’s ready, I expect we’ll be back for the second round.’
‘I’ll be seeing her a couple of times before that,’ Adams said, ‘but in the meantime, if you’ll excuse me . . .’
‘Of course,’ David said. ‘Many thanks again.’
‘My pleasure,’ Ethan Adams said, and left the room quietly.
David sat down again, feeling a little shaky.
‘Better now?’ Grace asked him gently.
‘I will be,’ he said.
‘You’ll be perfect,’ Grace said, ‘just as soon as you see your wife.’ She bent to pick up her bag. ‘You should get straight to her room.’
‘You don’t have to leave,’ David said.
She smiled. ‘I think I do.’
Martinez called Sam just after eight.
‘How’s Mildred doing?’
‘Good,’ Sam said. ‘I just talked to my dad.’
‘More good news,’ Martinez said. ‘Marie Nieper showed up an hour ago, safe and well, got bawled out by her family, said she had no idea anyone was worried about her.’
No idea they’d feared she might be Black Hole’s seventh victim.
‘I got nothing yet on our creepy snapper, but I’m still on it.’
Sam thanked him, told him to go home, mentioned the espresso he’d just finished and his hopes for inspiration.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘You give it a rest too,’ Martinez said. ‘You going to visit Mildred?’
‘She’s too tired,’ Sam said, ‘and my dad’s OK, so I’m going to look in at rehearsal, just in case Billie’s turned up too.’
‘Here’s hoping,’ Martinez said.
‘Not a word,’ Linda told Sam, as soon as she saw him. ‘I’m sorry to say I’m going to have to think about recasting.’
She looked tired, and the atmosphere in Tyler Allen’s backyard felt strained all around.
‘The kid’s a diva, I told you,’ Allen said.
‘I’m just so worried about her,’ Linda said.
‘Without your lead,’ Allen said, ‘I’d save your worries for the production.’
‘I’m female,’ Linda said. ‘I can worry about more than one thing at a time.’
Sam laughed.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Sam.’ Toni Petit came up behind them, dressed in black T-shirt and jeans. ‘I have your costume to fit.’ She shook her head. ‘I brought one of Billie’s, too, but . . .’
‘Not tonight, I’m afraid,’ Sam said.
‘Linda’s getting really upset about it.’ Toni led the way into the big converted garage, all the way to the back where she’d leaned a tall mirror against the wall.
‘I don’t blame her.’ Sam spied his plastic wrapped matador outfit hanging on a rail. ‘Let’s hope Billie gets to wear her costumes.’
‘Let’s hope.’
Toni drew
the wrapper up, unzipped some fasteners, then took it down off the rail in two parts, first the gilded jacket and then the narrow pants.
‘It looks terrific,’ Sam said.
‘We’ll see,’ she said.
There was something not right about her this evening, Sam felt, as Toni got down on her kneeling pad and regarded the fit of Escamillo’s pants. He’d often seen small vertical lines of concentration form between her eyebrows, but tonight they looked deeper and her mood seemed distracted.
‘You OK?’ he asked as she took two pins from the small black velvet cushion held by elastic on her left wrist.
‘Mm-hm.’ She stuck the pins between her lips.
‘Only you don’t seem your usual self.’
She took one pin out of her mouth, shrugged and bent to her work.
Toni Petit not the shrugging kind, as a rule, always precise and wholehearted about her work.
Aside from her work with the company, of course, Sam realized that he knew little about her – which was true of most of the S-BOP family. They were drawn together because of opera, worked hard as a group until after the crescendo of performances, then went their separate ways until the next time.
Toni made an irritated sound, shook her head, began unpinning a seam.
‘I don’t know how you have the patience,’ Sam said.
‘All part of the job.’ She transferred two more pins to her lips.
‘I’d be worried about swallowing one,’ Sam said.
‘Never done it yet,’ she said.
‘Don’t know how you talk with pins in your mouth.’
She didn’t answer, went on, her fingers deft.
He waited till her lips were safe. ‘Do you still have family in Louisiana?’
‘No.’ She sat back on her heels and surveyed his legs. ‘Turn to your right, please.’
He turned, and Toni shuffled on the pad to get in position.
‘I don’t even know if you have family down here,’ he said.
She looked away from her work for a moment, up into his face.
Something in her eyes.
Abruptly she took two pins from his pants seam and stuck them back into the velvet cushion.
The way she did that, like small stabs, jarred him.
Definitely something up with her.
‘How about we take a break?’ he suggested. ‘I could make us both a cup of Linda’s chamomile tea.’
‘I’d rather finish this.’
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