by Ava Miles
Clara clapped. “Yes, and that she hates the ‘little’ people. Trevor, we’ll need a list of her charities. I’ve met debutante philanthropists before. Most of them only raise money to make themselves look good. Fundraisers are just excuses for rich people to get together and party and have their pictures in the paper.”
“Not mine,” Trevor said, acting affronted. “My, you are cynical, Clara. But I like it.”
She gave him a cheeky wink.
“I like this idea,” Caroline said. “But what about doing this without J.T.’s consent? He never wanted to go this low.”
“Caroline, we talked about fighting dirty, and you said—”
“I know,” she said softly. “I just don’t want him to get…well, mad at me. Us.”
“Good point,” Evan said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “He already turned down my suggestion—at Trev’s prompting—about recording his calls with her and trying to get her on record saying something incriminating.”
“J.T. doesn’t get a vote anymore,” Trevor all but growled. “He’s not here. Plus, the stakes are higher after what she did to Uncle Arthur.”
Arthur considered the point. “J.T. might be uncomfortable, but Trev is right. He’s sitting this one out on some deserted island. I’m willing to do whatever that takes. Even if he gets a little mad.”
“Me too,” Trev said.
“Me three,” Caroline added like he’d hoped.
“How long before you find J.T.?” he asked Trevor.
He scoffed. “He thought he could stop me by buying six different plane tickets.”
“Did he dump his phone?” Evan asked.
“At the Denver airport,” Trev said. “I have other ways.”
“I can help you with some new tech my company cooked up,” Evan said. “You just can’t tell anyone. Homeland Security might get upset.”
“I’d appreciate any help you can give,” Trevor said.
Arthur stared at the two men. “You two would be terrifying if you ever worked together. Okay, so we have a semi-hatched plan. I’ll leave it to you to execute it. Meredith and Tanner have banned me from any newspaper work, so I’m stuck here with nothing to do. Trevor, Meredith has a pretty good list of Sin City’s charities. When you ask her for a copy, I’d love one as well.”
“I’ll read it to you while you rest on the sly,” Clara said, smiling conspiratorially. “You must be the only man alive the doctors have banned from reading.”
“Now the medical community is encouraging ignorance! It’s outrageous.” He was going to have to write a series of articles on hospitalization and the state of the medical community in this country.
“Calm yourself,” Caroline said. “Uncle, do you really think Sin City is going to trip up?”
“That’s what happens when you fight dirty,” he told her, noting the tension in her face. “You have to go for it.”
“Then let’s get down to it,” Caroline said.
Ah… He loved seeing that Hale spirit in the younger generations.
It was what gave him the strength to keep going.
Chapter 38
Fighting dirty didn’t come naturally to Caroline.
It wasn’t exactly something she could practice, after all. But Trevor had role-played the meeting with her and Clara. Frankly, the older woman was better at this sort of thing, but she would give it her all.
Usually she liked visiting The Grand. She’d always found the décor breathtaking and the food on Chef T’s menu delectable. Today, however, she was all business in her pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit with Clara at her side. The older woman looked polished and poised in an all-black suit punctuated by matching diamond jewelry at her ears, throat, and wrist. The silver fleur-de-lis pin on Caroline’s lapel was the primary recording device, but Clara’s top button served the same purpose. If one of them didn’t get what they needed, hopefully the other would.
They were going to rock it, she told herself as a mantra—if she didn’t throw up from nerves first.
“You’re going to be fine,” Clara told her as they walked through the lobby. “Spending five minutes in this place should help you with your poker face.”
Yes, there were always poker players mulling about. It was a boutique poker hotel, after all. When she spotted Rhett Butler Blaylock, she wasn’t surprised. He was a regular.
“Ladies,” he said as he approached them. “I hope you’re here for what I think you are.”
She couldn’t form a smile. “Yes, we are.”
“Good,” he responded, tipping his finger to his forehead. “Give her hell.”
“We plan to, young man,” Clara said.
They kept walking like a couple of gangsters, but of course, they ran into Jill before they reached the elevators.
“I just wanted to say good luck,” her cousin said, brushing aside tears. “I’ll see you at the hospital later, Clara. Thank you for being so good to my grandpa. I really like you.”
Clara touched her chin lightly. “I’m growing rather fond of you too. I can see why he loves you so. Now go on and let us continue our plan.”
Jill nodded and rushed off in the opposite direction.
“I can’t believe she hasn’t poisoned the woman,” Clara said under her breath. “It would be hard, working in the same hotel.”
“Most of us Hales aren’t that bloodthirsty,” Caroline said as they took the elevator, “but this woman is pushing us all to new depths.”
Wasn’t she about to engage in entrapment? When her conscience niggled her, she thought about everything Cynthia had done. That was enough to straighten her spine. This woman wasn’t going to stop on her own.
When they came to a stop outside Sin City’s penthouse suite, Clara turned to look Caroline in the eye and took both of her hands. It was like she was trying to imbue all of her strength into Caroline. She appreciated it. But she was going to pull this off. There was no failing here.
At her nod, Clara knocked, and after a few moments, the door opened.
Sin City stood in the open doorway decked out in a violet cashmere wrap fitted sinuously around her cream knee-length dress like a snake charmer might hold a snake. Uncle Arthur had told them he’d mentioned the snake analogy to J.T. once—that you have to go for the underbelly. Well, here we go, she thought.
“I wondered if I might have visitors,” she said in her tony accent. “Honestly, I didn’t foresee a visit from the two of you.”
“May we come in?” Clara asked.
When the woman nodded, Caroline had to contain her surprise—Clara was leaning heavily against her, as if she were an invalid, and she moved far more slowly than normal. Goodness, they hadn’t rehearsed this. Way to go, Clara. Encourage her to underestimate us.
“Caroline, it’s been too long,” Sin City said as they walked into her parlor.
The view was incredible. The mountains looked almost blue at this time of year, dotted with snowcaps. Caroline resented this woman living so large when she’d wreaked such destruction. Good thing she was supposed to play bad cop today.
“Has it?” she asked, relaxing her hold on her purse. “You seem bent on hurting any happiness I might have. First, you get me fired, and now J.T. has disappeared.”
Cynthia’s cool, collected visage cracked for two seconds before she got it back in place. “He’s disappeared? Impossible. I spoke with him two days ago. He was upset, of course, about your uncle’s heart attack. Well, at his age these things happen.”
Caroline wanted to rip the woman’s eyes out. “Do they? It’s amazing the kind of stress other people can add to things. As for J.T., there will be no more games to play with him.”
That stopped Cynthia short. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s finally done. Don’t you understand? You won. Are you happy now?”
The woman stared at her for a moment as though rendered mute.
“This isn’t about happiness, Cynthia, is it?” Clara chimed in on cue, walking over to the gold s
ettee and sitting down like she owned the place. “It’s about making someone pay. I had a bad marriage, so I know what I’m talking about. My husband was a known philanderer, and I had fantasies about his penis shriveling and falling off.”
Caroline had to close her mouth at that one. Again, this wasn’t something they’d rehearsed.
“But you, Cynthia? You’ve had everything handed to you your whole life. You’re beautiful, rich, educated, and accomplished. At least that’s what some of the wealthy matrons I know in Manhattan say about you.”
Cynthia marched over to a nearby gold-leaf table and picked up her phone. “I don’t care what they say. Julian can’t be gone. I need him!”
Need him? “You can’t be serious,” Caroline said, no acting needed. “All you’ve done is attack and hurt him at every turn. Now you’ve hurt the man he considers a mentor.”
The woman fussed with her phone and then put it to her ear.
“That’s what you do when you hope someone might come crawling back to you,” Clara said, her tone somber. “You hurt them.”
Cynthia’s face suddenly crumpled. “It says his number has been disconnected.”
For a moment, Caroline saw what Clara had discerned. “Were you really hoping J.T. would come back to you?” she asked in disbelief.
“What?” She looked at the phone, punched some buttons, and put it to her ear again. “There must be some mistake. He can’t be gone.”
The broken heart Cynthia had revealed to Caroline at the gallery had become twisted and warped. It had given way to a weird obsession.
“We’re doing our best to find him, of course,” Clara said, crossing her legs and studying the woman.
Cynthia slammed her phone down. “He has to come back.”
“Was all the philanthropy work becoming boring, my dear?” Clara asked in a pitying town.
Cynthia glared at her. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to know what you’re doing to find Julian. That brother of his should be able to pull it off. He may be a pain in the ass, but he’s formidable.”
Caroline wanted to shake her, but Clara clearly knew what she was doing so let her remain the focus.
“Tsk. Tsk.” Clara buffed her nails. “I remember all my charity work. When I was your age, I wanted adventure and romance. I hated going to tedious parties for this and that cause, smiling at people I didn’t know. Did you know I received more birthday presents growing up from people I’d never even heard of than my real friends?”
Caroline suddenly wondered how much of this the older woman was making up.
“You and I are nothing alike,” Cynthia said, an edge to her voice.
“No? Well, my family was much wealthier, if that’s what you mean.”
Caroline had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. Clara was going for the jugular.
“My family is as good as yours,” Cynthia stated, planting a stiletto on the ground for emphasis. “Better, in fact.”
Clara laughed. “Really? Not as great as the Bentleys or the Caraouches though, surely?”
“Please, those families didn’t earn their first million until the 1960s,” she said, coming over and standing beside the settee where Clara was lounging. “They couldn’t even be considered nouveau riche, they’re so fresh off the farm.”
More brittle laugher from Clara. “Then there are the Westons. I personally never cared for them much.”
“They’re boorish,” Cynthia said, “and breed some of the ugliest children you’ll ever see at day events. They’d be wise to stick to nighttime fetes, if you ask me.”
“That’s a perspective,” Clara said. “But the worst ones are—”
“The Farnsworths,” Cynthia filled in. “That family marries as if they’re turning the institution into some legalized form of job security.”
Clara clucked, and Caroline looked away to contain the glee she feared might be showing on her face. Even if they didn’t get anything incriminating from Cynthia, surely this would be enough to embarrass her well and good.
“How scandalous,” Clara said. “I didn’t know that about them. If I’m ever invited to one of their events, I’ll be sure to take it into consideration. Now, what are we going to do about Julian? I know this is horrible to ask, but would you be willing to stop this game of yours so he’ll come back?”
Cynthia blinked and then shook her head. “I can’t.”
Clara stood and patted her on the arm. “I thought not. Trevor is still looking for him, and I imagine he’ll be successful. My concern is what happens when he finds his brother.”
“He has to come back,” Cynthia said, her face stricken. She turned Caroline. “You should talk to him.”
She nodded. “I plan on it, but you’re not making that easy. Why would he come back if we find him? Will you back off about the museum? We have the Rembrandt, after all, and tomorrow the whole world is going to be excited to finally see it.”
They’d all agreed to reveal it to the world at the press conference. They’d hired the requisite security this time, of course.
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. “I might concede that you won the round on the museum.”
That didn’t sound like complete capitulation.
Clara playfully swatted Cynthia. “Like you really wanted to give away three hundred million dollars for cancer research,” she said with a laugh. “There are so many other things to spend the money on, like furs or summers at a villa in Lake Como. I mean, please…”
“But cancer research was the only way I could check the museum,” Cynthia told Clara, as though the idea hadn’t dawned on her.
“And yet the museum will go forward anyway,” Clara said. “Now you can give all of that money to some other university or research institution for cancer research. I mean, it’s already known you planned the gift—”
“There’s no way I’m giving that kind of money away now,” Cynthia said.
“You don’t believe in cancer research?” Clara asked, adding a shocked blinking to punctuate her act.
Caroline was going to have to give her a trophy after this performance.
“There’s a dozen better things to spend our family money on, like you said,” Cynthia said. “If it weren’t for the tax benefits…”
Clara waved her hand and made a noncommittal sound. “So you won’t let off Julian? Not even a little bit? Even though the museum is going forward?”
Cynthia walked off to the window, her hands clenched at her sides. Caroline knew she was struggling, but she couldn’t find any compassion in her heart. No, this woman had hurt too many people.
Clara shot her a wink as she approached the woman, her put-on limp still in place. “If you called the bank and asked them to reverse their position on Arthur’s loan, that might be a good show of faith.”
Caroline leaned on her toes, waiting to hear the woman’s answer. If Clara got her to admit this…
“I want him to come back, but I can’t—” she said softly. “Let’s speak of something else.”
“Banks are such a pain anyway,” Clara said. “If we didn’t have loads of money, I’d never use them. I’m old-fashioned, I suppose. I’d keep it in a private vault behind the wine cellar or underneath the pool. I still can’t believe you moved all your money from one bank to another. Wasn’t it a pain?”
“Ah…yes,” Cynthia said. “Clara, please tell Julian I’ll let up…for a while. That’s…all I can promise.”
Did spiders stop spinning webs? Caroline clenched her teeth so she wouldn’t call the woman out for lying.
“I don’t know if that will do,” Clara said, taking Cynthia’s hand briefly. “But we’ll try. Well, I expect we should go. Thank you for seeing us. I thought you should know…about Julian. I remember when someone called on me to tell me about something my husband did. I’ve never forgotten it.”
Even though Clara said it lightly, Caroline knew it couldn’t be a pleasant memory.
“Caroline, we should go,” she said. “Take my arm
. You know how frail I am. Never live to this age unless you have no choice. I tell you, age is hard on beauty and breeding.”
Cynthia shook herself. “You’ll convince Julian to come back, won’t you? Oh, and I’ll need his new phone number when you have it.”
If Clara hadn’t squeezed her arm, Caroline’s poker face would have given way. His new number? The woman had to be demented!
They walked to the door slowly. “We’ll let ourselves out,” Clara said. “Goodbye, my dear.”
No response came from inside the room as the door closed behind them. They didn’t speak until they walked out of the hotel and situated themselves in the limo.
Clara waggled her eyebrows at Caroline. “I always wanted to be on the stage. How did I do?”
She hugged her. “You were brilliant! I couldn’t believe she was telling you all that.”
“Rich people tend to speak more openly with other rich people,” Clara said with a decided eye roll. “I don’t fully understand why. A perceived sense of the same values or some such drivel. And they love to gossip and talk badly about other rich people. I realized our plan was too direct once I got there and saw her in person. She’s…stronger in some ways than I imagined and…weaker in others. I didn’t expect her to be so upset…about J.T.”
Caroline looked down at her lap. “I don’t pretend to understand it. How he fell for her and vice versa, but she still loves him in some weird way, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” Clara said sadly. “The ties that bind. Marriage is a doozy for that, and I speak as a woman who stayed married to a philandering piece of crap for decades. But that’s all in the past.”
That much was clear. The aunt J.T. had heard about growing up—covetous and conniving— was nowhere to be seen in this vivacious woman. “Clearly you’re in a new cycle of your life, what with Uncle Arthur and this new acting persona. You should join a theater group.”
“New acting persona,” she said, humming. “I like that. How about Clara the Charismatic?”
It was a horrible name, but she’d never say so. “You’re wonderful.”
“I feel wonderful. It’s like I have a purpose in life again.”
