“He liked you, Copper,” J.C. said.
“Right,” I said. “He was practically in love.”
“He called me yesterday morning,” J.C. said. “Told me he was giving you his Saxon file.”
J.C. had my attention now.
“You want to hear what else he said?”
Yes! I wanted to scream, but I limited myself to a noncommittal nod.
“He said, I got Saxon down to the end zone, old buddy, but I couldn’t score. I never dreamed I’d have to pass to a blonde, but she’s the only one with enough reason to take it over the line.” J. C. paused. “Then he said something about Saxon screwing your brother. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Screwing my brother?” I said. “He said that?”
J.C. nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “It means something to me.”
“Good,” J.C. said. “And by the way, nice work on that movie review. I wish I’d read it before I wasted two hours watching the flick. Your line about the pockmarked butt was perfect.”
What? J.C. Dillon was giving the Calendar Girl a compliment? But he was gone before I could thank him, and I had more pressing things to think about anyway.
:: :: ::
Ed’s time had run out, but mine hadn’t. Not quite, anyway. Unless—I suddenly thought back to the night we had dinner at Mondrian. Julia had practically ordered Michael to meet her the next day, even though it was a Saturday and even though it was Christmas Eve. And Michael had agreed, I was sure of it. Was he already “screwed?”
I thought long and hard about everything I knew. Between Julia’s cryptic tape and the envelope of stuff Ed had given me, the only scenario that made any sense was that Julia—and presumably Jaz and Johnny—were doing something shady with the Alliance’s real estate deal. Damn! I wished Ed had stuck around long enough to tell me what he suspected. I wished that about Victoria, too. This was the second time in two weeks that somebody had given me a pile of papers and then died.
I called the vicarage, but the answering machine was on. I called St. Andrew’s, but Michael’s recorded voice answered there, too. It didn’t surprise me, because Monday was his day off. I tried his cell phone. Voice mail there, too, and I left a third message to “call me as soon as you can. It’s important.”
I sighed. Like it or not, I had to call Sierra. The receptionist at Accolade Realty put me right through.
“Sierra. It’s Copper.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
More silence.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Look, I’m really sorry, and—something’s come up.”
“What now? You’ve been caught in a hurricane? No wait, I know. There’s been a major earthquake on Fremont Street.”
“I’m sorry, Sierra. I really am. But—this is about Michael. He could be in big trouble.”
Silence.
“I’m not making this up. There’s evidence that Julia Saxon is doing something shady with the real estate deal. I could show you—”
“Evidence! I’ll give you evidence!” I held the telephone receiver away from my ear. “You’ve been polluted by all those assholes at the newspaper. They’ve always been out to get Julia, and you know why they haven’t succeeded? Because they have no evidence! Your so-called evidence is just a big pile of shitty rumors, and I can prove it.”
“I know you’re probably right,” I said, “but could you make sure everything’s okay anyway? Just to be sure?”
“Who do you think I am, Copper? I work in a real estate office, in case you hadn’t noticed. Of course I can check things out.”
She hung up, and I couldn’t help smiling. Yeah, she was mad, but I could handle that if she was also going to dig into the Alliance’s property deal. Except—I called her back, hoping she’d take my call after that last interchange.
“Sorry to bother you again,” I said. “But when are you going to check into the deal?”
“I’m doing it right now, Copper,” Sierra said. “And I’d be making more progress if my phone didn’t keep ringing.”
“Okay,” I said. “And thanks.”
A huff preceded the slam.
God, I thought. Even a double-size bottle of designer vodka wouldn’t fix things this time. I called Michael’s cell phone again, but he still wasn’t answering. I couldn’t think of anything else to do on the Julia front, and after I’d worked halfway through a stack of press releases, it was time to head up to the Golden Nugget to meet Daniel.
:: :: ::
Daniel opened the door in nothing but boxers. He was smiling.
“I missed you,” he said.
“I missed you,” I said.
He moved aside. On the bed was a big tray of sushi, a bowl of grapes, a plate of brownies, and a bottle of champagne sticking out of a plastic ice bucket.
“You’re incredible!”
Daniel kissed me. “I thought it was time to get back to the way we were,” he said. “Feel like some horizontal sushi?”
Horizontal sushi. It was a phrase and a habit we’d enjoyed back at Princeton. California roll never tastes better than between the sheets.
“Where did you find sushi?” I asked.
“Asked the front desk first,” Daniel said, “but then the taxi driver said he knew a better place. I was surprised he spoke English, and downright amazed that he was interested enough to recommend a sushi bar. Never would have happened in D.C.”
“They actually have to take an English test here,” I said. “And maybe he got a kickback, but I think it’s only strip clubs that pay a bounty for customers.”
I looked again at the smorgasbord on the bed. The spread looked pretty tempting.
“I’m starving.”
Daniel picked up a pair of chopsticks and smiled. “May I pincer you up a salmon roll, ma’am?”
There’s something about a hotel room that lets you shut out the rest of the world—and even the rest of your life—for a little while. And Daniel had spent all morning playing caterer. That was unbelievably sweet, and I told him that at least a hundred times.
“I wish I didn’t have to go back to work,” I said as we finished off the brownies. I’d limited myself to one glass of champagne, but it had been enough to erase all career ambition. “I’m off tomorrow, though. All day.”
Daniel drained his glass, set it on the nightstand, and rolled over to face me.
He was about to say something when my phone rang.
“I have to get that,” I said. “Just a minute.”
It was Chris Farr, and he sounded unusually harassed.
“How soon can you get back here?” he asked.
“I’m headed there now,” I said, jumping off the bed and grabbing my clothes. “What’s happened?”
“Beaucoup changes in Dazzle, and since you’re not going to be here tomorrow—”
“I’ll be right there, Chris, and I won’t leave until everything’s under control.”
Daniel was still studying me when I hung up.
“We’ve still got to talk,” he said.
God, those are ominous words when they come out of a man’s mouth. A woman says them, and all it means is, “Let’s hang out.” But from a guy, they’re like Dirty Harry’s gun.
“Okay,” I said. “Pick a topic.”
“Where were you last night?”
“What? Oh, I stayed with a friend.” But damn my ears. They’re worse than Pinocchio’s nose, and I wasn’t even lying. “Where were you?”
“Here. Alone.” He drained his glass and refilled it. “Is the friend someone I’ve met?”
I looked at Daniel. He knew as well as I did that he had met only one person in Las Vegas who qualified as a “friend.”
For a moment, I wa
s sorely tempted to say no. But what was the point? I hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. I hadn’t even sat on the sofa with David to watch Magnum Force, and it irritated me that Daniel was making me feel like I’d spent the night having torrid sex with him.
“I stayed at David Nussbaum’s.” I was tempted to add “in his wife’s study,” but I didn’t. I shouldn’t have to, I kept thinking. That’s not the way it’s supposed to work. I’m not guilty of anything, and I shouldn’t have to prove my innocence.
Daniel got up, found a pair of jeans, and pulled them on. He had a T-shirt over his head when I spoke again.
“I don’t think I should have to apologize for that.”
His head poked through, and his face was wearing the same look as it did when I wouldn’t tell him Victoria’s address.
“I love you, Daniel,” I said. “I wanted to be with you. But you didn’t want to be with me, and so when David offered, well … ”
Daniel just stood there.
“Will you come with me to have dinner with my family tonight?” I said. “My parents are leaving tomorrow.”
For a horrible moment, I thought he would say no, and it felt like near death. Our whole relationship swirled in front of my eyes. Was this it? Were we done? Damn it! David and I hadn’t even so much as smooched!
Daniel wouldn’t look at me at first. When he did, I saw tears standing in his eyes.
“Daniel, I’m—” Tears jumped to my own eyes. “I hate this. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Copper.”
“I’ll pick you up as soon as I can after work,” I said. “Okay?
Daniel didn’t say anything.
“Please? I’ll get here no later than five thirty. I promise.”
He finally nodded, and I left.
Back at The Light, I attacked the stack of notes and press releases Chris had waiting for me, and I managed to power through most of them. When I went into the lunchroom to get some coffee, I found myself checking the corners for Ed Bramlett. Damn! It was almost like I actually missed the old guy.
Chapter 22
I made a point of getting to the Golden Nugget at five fifteen. If Daniel and I had any hope of patching things up, I really couldn’t be late.
When we arrived at the vicarage, my dad was drinking bourbon in the kitchen, and Michael was doing a bad job of fixing dinner. Dad immediately struck up a conversation with Daniel, and before I could ask where Sierra was, my mother spirited me out the back door.
“Copper, I need to use your computer again,” she said, closing the kitchen door. “I need to send some email.”
“Mom, I—”
I couldn’t bring myself to let her make another email mistake.
“What’s that?” my mother interrupted. She was pointing to the far side of the yard, where some obvious action was taking place under a dense boxwood hedge. We watched as Sekhmet emerged on her belly.
“She’s carrying something,” Mom said.
It was pretty dark, but there was no denying the cat had something white and furry hanging out both sides of her mouth.
“What is it?” Mom asked. “Is it alive?”
Oh, God, I thought. What if it’s some poor kid’s bunny?
I crossed the lawn to see.
“It’s not alive,” I said, pulling the thing out of Sekhmet’s mouth. “It’s a muff, I think—no wait—it’s a cuff!”
Yes. It was a white rabbit-fur cuff lined in satin. It even had a large rhinestone-studded cuff link.
The cat complained loudly as my mother and I examined it.
“I wonder where she found it,” I said, turning the thing over in my hands. “It certainly doesn’t look like something from a garbage can.”
“She’s a very odd kitty,” my mother said. “Yesterday, I had to stop her from stealing a bra out of Sierra’s laundry basket.”
“Yeah, she’s weird, all right,” I said. “She’s been leaving me strange gifts ever since I started feeding her.” Like men’s briefs, I was thinking, and maybe Sierra was right about the cinnamon roll. The only pervert in the neighborhood was my own cat.
“Well, anyway, may I use your laptop again?”
“Mom, I’ve got to tell you something first,” I said. I took a deep breath. “The last time you used it—”
“I broke something? I’m sorry!”
“No! You didn’t break anything. You just—” I looked at her. “You left a copy of your message in my outbox, and a reply came to my inbox.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a minute or two. “Copper, there’s something I should tell you.”
About time, I thought.
“You know Patrick.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Patrick Cluff.”
“Mr. Cluff? From St. Mark’s?” Mr. Cluff was an old dude who taught Sunday school at our church and planted rosebushes in the Memorial Garden every spring. At least I always thought of him as an “old dude” because his wife had died and he seemed kind of grandfatherly. He was nice enough, but the thought of the freckly old guy getting a boner for my mother was unsettling. I actually preferred the mental image of her getting nailed by a virile young potter.
“Are you and Dad splitting up?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mom said.
Wait a second! I wanted to shout. You’re getting it on with another man, and you aren’t sure your marriage is on the rocks?
“It really depends on how things go with Graham,” she continued.
“Graham? Who’s Graham?”
“Your father’s boyfriend.”
What?
I couldn’t have been rendered more speechless if she had kicked me in the stomach.
“Patrick’s getting me through this,” she said softly.
I just stood there.
“He was a friend. I didn’t expect to fall in love with him.”
I still didn’t know what to say. A lifetime of training in silent denial hadn’t prepared me for a conversation like this.
“I better go in and help Michael,” I said at last. “Does he know about—you and Dad?”
Mom nodded. “I told him today. Sierra knows, too.” She brushed a curl off her forehead. “I was going to tell you, too—the right way. I’m sorry you had to find out by—”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
It wasn’t, though. I could only hope that someday it would be.
“Where’s Sierra, anyway?” I asked, following family tradition and changing the subject.
“She called earlier. She’s held up at work.”
I headed inside.
“I’ll be right in,” Mom said. “Give me a minute.”
I left Sekhmet’s fur cuff on the washing machine on my way through the laundry room. In the kitchen, my father was engaged in animated conversation with Daniel. I couldn’t help staring at them. God! Fifteen minutes ago I would just have been happy they were having a good time. Now, I couldn’t help noticing how my dad was standing. Weight on one foot, hip thrust out, and he touched Daniel’s arm when he laughed.
For a fleeting second, I felt like grabbing the frying pan on the counter and smashing him on the head. Damn it, Dad! Did you have to make our whole family history a big fat lie?
Since I couldn’t exactly shout out the question without ruining the evening entirely, I tried to concentrate on helping my brother make spaghetti sauce. With luck, he wouldn’t bring the subject up. I needed time to get my head around our new family dynamic.
“Sierra should get here any minute,” Michael said as he tried to slice a mushroom. The knife slipped, almost costing him the end of his thumb.
“Here, let me do that,” I said. “Spaghetti sauce is a lot better without blood in it.”
Michael happily relinquished the knife and turned over the sauce-making project to
me.
“Sierra had something a lot fancier planned, but when I asked her how to get started, she changed the menu.”
Wise of her, I thought.
“Did you meet with Julia on Saturday?” I asked.
“No,” Michael said, slightly surprised. “Why?”
“Just wondered,” I said.
“I was supposed to, but I put her off until today. I was about to leave for her office when Sierra called. Told me to use any excuse to get out of the meeting. I don’t know what’s up, but Julia was pretty upset when I told her I couldn’t make it.”
Just as Mom came in from the backyard, Sierra called from the living room. “Michael, are you here?”
“Yes!”
Michael headed out of the kitchen and a second later called out, “Copper! Come here!”
I joined them in their bedroom. Sierra was sitting on the edge of the bed hyperventilating.
“I’ve got it all,” she said, patting a file folder on her lap. “Copper, you were right.”
“What?” Michael said. “Will somebody tell me what’s going on?”
“Julia’s a crook,” Sierra said.
“What?” Michael said again.
“Look, we’ve got to do dinner with your parents,” Sierra said, her voice beginning to return to a more normal pitch. “Once they’re gone, I’ll explain everything.”
“Dinner’s just about ready,” I said. “Just have to boil the spaghetti.”
“Thanks, Copper,” Sierra said. “I’ll set the table.”
Doing our best to appear calm and normal, the three of us headed back across the living room.
“What the freaking hell is this?” Sierra’s voice shrilled from the laundry room, where she’d gone to retrieve some clean napkins.
“Oh! I forgot to tell you,” I said. “It’s another cat trophy.”
“Damn!” Sierra said. “Do you have any idea where she got it?”
“Copper and I saw her drag it through the back hedge,” Mom said. “I thought it was alive.”
“God,” Sierra said. “Do you have any idea … ?”
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