I had to admit that the newsroom was strangely quiet without Dick, and I kept expecting him to come in. It was still damn cold, though. I hoped they’d get the heat cranking by tomorrow at least.
“I hate to file and run, but I have to get to my mother’s for dinner,” I told Marty. “If you need me for anything else, you can call me on my cell.”
I had to go home and change. I couldn’t show up at my mother’s in a torn puffy coat and dirty jeans. There were rules to follow, and even though I thought they were stupid, I followed them rather than face the wrath. Anyway, if I was dressed properly, maybe she wouldn’t mind that I was showing up with my father.
Because of the snow, I was faced with a fashion dilemma. I couldn’t wear normal shoes, I had to go the boot route. But would it be snow boots with regular shoes in a bag—my preference, but the bag would be considered gauche because undoubtedly it would be a plastic supermarket bag—or my incredibly uncomfortable but fashionable plastic boots that would be serviceable both in the snow and on dry land? I went with the plastic boots, even though I’d bought them in a hurry in New York City last winter because it had started snowing unexpectedly and I’d needed footwear. I cringed as I forced my feet into them. I have no idea what sort of fashion devil had possessed me that day. Except that my friend Priscilla had tickets to The Producers and we couldn’t be late.
My old standby black A-line skirt and a striped turtleneck completed the ensemble. I dabbed on a little makeup, thought better of trying to do something with my hair, and put on my dress coat and leather gloves. Respectable and uncomfortable. Everything my mother wanted me to be.
Fortunately, my father pulled up in front of my mother’s at the same time I did. It was better that he didn’t go to the door alone.
He snickered a little when he saw me. “Still trying to please her?”
His own dress shirt and tie did not go unnoticed. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”
“She still bugging you about getting your hair straightened?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t do it. Vinny thinks it’s hot.”
I didn’t have time to respond, because my mother had thrown open the door and we could see the holiday party taking place inside. A small gathering, she’d said. Yeah, right. A small gathering for my mother is fifty people at a sit-down dinner. How she’d pulled this off in one day would be one of those unsolved mysteries of time.
True to form, she was gracious to my father even if she didn’t feel like being gracious.
“Joe, I’d heard you were in town,” she said as she pulled us inside and shut the door, trapping us like the sitting ducks we were.
“Oh, Annie, what lovely boots!” she exclaimed, herding us into the study.
In moments we each had a bourbon in our hands, without really knowing how she did it. We stared at each other numbly.
“And you had a problem with this lifestyle?” I asked my father while my mother went off to tend to a guest who needed another martini.
He was shaking his head, but I could see the smile playing near the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know how she does this. Suzette has a panic attack if we’re having one couple over for drinks.”
“Are you ever going to marry her?” It was a loaded question, one I asked him on a regular basis. He never had a good answer for me. Tonight wasn’t going to be an exception.
“It’s better if we’re both free to come and go as we please.” I saw his eyes following my mother around the room, taking in the elegant red crepe dress that hung just right over her slender frame. I had to admit that my mother was a damn good-looking woman, and I guess I didn’t blame Bill Bennett for succumbing to her charms, but I wish she’d picked on someone else rather than my boss. I also harbored secret thoughts that maybe she’d realize what an idiot she was about my father and they’d end up together again.
I’m almost forty, and that’s a kid’s dream, for my parents to get back together. But we all have our little secrets.
“I’m glad you got rid of that awful down coat.”
I turned to see Vinny DeLucia smiling at me. What was worse was that my father was looking at him approvingly. It was weird having my father like the guy I had a crush on. It seemed wrong somehow.
“You could’ve mentioned you were invited.” I tried not to look at my father, whose eyes were twinkling.
“We could have breakfast again tomorrow,” my father was saying.
“And I could become anorexic and never eat again.” I downed my drink. Actually, it wasn’t bad that they were both here; I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.
But before I could ask them anything about this afternoon, my mother returned to our little corner.
“Where’s Bill Bennett tonight?” I asked.
She hesitated, and for a second I thought perhaps it was over, that I could get on with my life and not have to cringe every time I saw him in the cafeteria, on the way to the bathroom, or in the executive editor’s office.
“He may be by later. His daughter is visiting from Wisconsin, and he wanted some time with her. I met her at lunch. She’s a lovely girl.”
Might as well plunge a wooden stake through my heart and get it over with.
“Is this serious, Alex?” My father tried to keep his voice light, but I could see his hand twirling his glass, making the bourbon swish a little too hard.
She smiled at him condescendingly. “Oh, Joe, you never know.” But she knew. And we knew. This was serious, more serious than I’d ever imagined it could be. Oh, Christ, my life was going to be really fucked up.
My only hope was that the corporate suits would decide they needed new blood and fire Bill Bennett. It had happened before. Someone looks at someone cross-eyed and they’re gone, leaving no sign they’d ever even existed. We’d watched four publishers come and go in the past six years. One managed to hang on for two years, but profits went down and he was gone along with the advertising and circulation directors. Bill Bennett had been around for about eight months. Word was he was in tight with the CEO, who was based somewhere in Texas. Since I never had any plans to visit Texas, I didn’t think it mattered whether I knew exactly where he was or not. It was a big state. And far away from Connecticut.
We were being led into the dining room. I counted heads once we were seated. Twenty-five. My mother was the odd person out. I wondered if she was saving a plate for Bill Bennett in the kitchen. She used to do that for my father.
Vinny was across the table from me. I was sandwiched between my mother’s best friend, Freda, and an old man with Bozo hair. I introduced myself, since it would undoubtedly be a long, painful meal during which I’d have to make small talk. I might as well know who the guy was.
“Mitchell Cartwright,” he said in a low, rather Sean Connery-like voice. I took another look at him. If he’d trimmed his hair, he would actually be a good-looking older man, with a long nose and high forehead. I wondered if my mother had made a mistake and Freda should be sitting next to Mitchell Cartwright. Freda’s husband had died the year before of prostate cancer, and she was on the make. Really. I could tell. She’d obviously had her hair and makeup done, and her blouse was low and clingy. And it even looked as if she’d visited Victoria’s Secret and invested in one of those bras that push your breasts up and out over your clothes in an attempt to look appealing.
It was working. Mitchell Cartwright didn’t seem to give a shit about me, even though I am thirty years younger than Freda.
Vinny caught my eye, and I could see he was trying not to laugh. I just wanted to go throw up and tell my mother I was too ill to stay.
My father was across the table, about five people down. No breasts in his soup. He was stuck between my mother’s law partners.
Halfway through the fruit cup, I traded seats with Freda. My mother frowned at me from the head of the table, and I frowned back.
“You know, you could’ve been more social,” she whispered to me after we’d gotten through
the marathon dinner and finally were knocking back brandies in the study.
“I’ve been working almost straight through since yesterday morning,” I said, maybe a little too loudly, because I noticed Mitchell Cartwright glance up at me from Freda’s chest. I jerked my head in their direction. “Freda’s getting laid tonight.”
My mother shook her head. “Don’t be crude, Anne.”
One of the hired help for the night appeared mysteriously at my mother’s side with the cordless phone. My mother took it, got a funny look on her face, and wandered into the hall. At first I thought it was Bill Bennett, but the look on her face told me no, it was someone else. And since her ex-husband, daughter, and law partners were here, I couldn’t help but be curious.
I followed her as she scurried into the kitchen and put the phone back in its cradle. I startled her when she turned around and I was in her face.
“Oh, Anne,” she said, her voice breathless. “I have to go.”
“Go?”
“I have something important to attend to.”
Something important during one of her soirees? I studied her face. This was fucking big; there was no way she would be able to get me off her case until she told me what was up. And she knew it.
She sighed. “You’re going to have to take over, take care of everyone until they leave.”
“When are you coming back?”
She shook her head. “Probably not for a while. They’ll all filter out soon, anyway.” She pulled a jacket out of a closet near the back door. I blocked the door.
“You have to tell me. Otherwise I’m leaving. Now. And your guests will have to fend for themselves.”
Leaving a party host-less was something I knew she couldn’t do. It was against her nature. She was struggling with herself, trying to decide whether it was worth it to tell me.
Finally, I could see her relenting. “All right, but you have to promise me that you won’t do anything about this.”
It was a story. A story I would still be able to get into the paper because it was early enough for tomorrow’s edition. And she was making me promise I wouldn’t. I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Okay,” I said.
“I have to get to the police station. They’ve arrested Mickey Hayward in LeeAnn’s murder.”
Chapter 13
While I wasn’t completely surprised that Mickey was arrested, considering his and LeeAnn’s volatile relationship and his reaction earlier in the day, I was surprised about one thing.
“He called you to represent him?” I didn’t think he could afford my mother, even though she did pro bono work from time to time. But Mickey Hayward didn’t seem the type of guy she’d take on. He was a little too smarmy for her.
“Oh, no, dear. That was Mac. Mac Amato. He called her and she called me. I told her I’d help out.” And with that she was out the door, leaving me with a decision to make.
Actually, it wasn’t too hard. I picked up the phone and called the paper. Marty was still there, like I knew he would be.
“Gotta top my story off,” I said.
“Better be good. Deadline’s in fifteen minutes.”
I told him about Mickey’s arrest. I could hear his fingers moving on his keyboard. “Can you call the cops and get it confirmed?” he asked.
“I’ll call you right back.” I hung up and dialed Tom’s cell phone number. This was no time to respect our breakup. This was news, and I was going to get it before deadline.
“You heard.” He didn’t even say hello.
“My mother’s on her way over. When did you pick him up?” I had to ask him the questions quickly, before he realized what he was doing.
“Half an hour ago. Your mother?” Fortunately that was news to him, and it distracted him.
“Yeah. Left a dinner party.”
“Holy shit.” My mother was a good lawyer. She got criminals off. The cops didn’t like her. Of course, she also got innocent people off, too. But the cops think everyone’s guilty, so that didn’t matter to them.
“What’s the evidence?” I asked.
“No comment.” He hung up, and I quickly dialed Marty and fed him the news.
“We don’t have a picture of him, do we?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Too bad. And it’s too late to try to find one now. Gotta get one tomorrow.” I agreed to try to get my hands on one.
It wasn’t until I hung up that I realized I had to go out there and tell my mother’s guests that she wasn’t there anymore. My father was lurking just outside the kitchen.
“Where’d she go?”
I told him what was going on, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully but didn’t say anything.
“Mac said she thought Mickey had killed her, but when I saw him, he seemed really surprised she was murdered,” I told him.
“Hmmm.” His mind was definitely elsewhere.
Might as well get it over with.
“Why were you at Dominic Gaudio’s today?” I asked.
He looked me straight in the eye. “He’s an old friend, Annie. Why wouldn’t I go see him? I think I told you I was visiting friends today.”
He was calm, but I was flustered and frustrated. This wasn’t the whole story, I would bank on that. “Why did you call Vinny and tell him to meet you there?”
His expression didn’t change, but I could see his shoulders tense slightly. “How do you know Vinny was there?”
“Because she followed me.” Vinny stepped around the corner.
I glared at him. “How do you know that?”
“You’d make a lousy private eye.”
So sue me. “Why were you there?”
“We were talking about Sal,” Vinny said. “I still have to find him.”
I remembered the Cadillac. “You know, someone was watching you besides me.” And I told them how the car had slowed down in front of the house.
My father smiled. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
But Vinny looked a little distressed at this news. I was going to have to get him alone. My father was too smooth, too used to evading questions.
“What’s going on here?” Vinny asked. “Where’s your mother?”
I told him how Mickey had been arrested. He frowned and bit his lip. “Shit.”
“I have to go be the host,” I said with a grimace, indicating the people we could hear murmuring down the hall.
My father grinned. “Are you up to it?”
“No.”
When everyone found out my mother had left, they quickly donned their coats and said their own good-byes. My father, Vinny, and I settled into the leather chairs in the den with more drinks as the hired help scurried around like mice, cleaning up. We’d wait until they were done and gone before we left.
I tried to talk to them again about Sal and their meeting this afternoon, but my father refilled my glass and changed the subject to golf, something he and Vinny seemed to have an affinity for. It was easy to drift off into my own thoughts as they chatted. They talked in that way guys do when they’re alone together, even though I was sitting there with them.
“Hey, Annie, wake up.”
My dad was leaning over me the way he used to when I was little and having a nightmare. I smiled at him. “I fell asleep?”
“You’ve been snoring.”
I sat up straight, looking around for Vinny.
“He left.” My father paused. “Before the snoring.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“About an hour.”
“Really?”
“You’ve been working hard the last two days, and I know you don’t sleep well when you’re wired about something.”
The lights were dim, and I had a throw blanket on top of me. I pulled it up to my chin, savoring the smell of the chair leather and my dad’s cologne.
“Are you sure you can’t come back?” I asked softly.
My dad settled back into his own leather chair and sighed. “I really can’t. Esp
ecially now that your mother . . .” His voice trailed off.
“If she wasn’t involved with someone, would you come back?”
He smiled, but I saw a twinge of sadness in his face. “I’ve got a life in Vegas, she’s got one here, whether she’s seeing someone or not. She made it clear I wasn’t going to be a part of that life. And you, well, you’re doing fine on your own. You’ve built a nice career for yourself, you’ve got some good friends.” He winked. “And Vinny is good people.”
I saw what he was implying. “But he’s engaged.”
“For the wrong reasons. I have confidence—”
But before he could finish his thought, we heard the front door open and shut.
“Back so soon?” I asked when my mother walked by. It startled her, and she peered into the den.
“You’re both still here?”
“Annie fell asleep,” my father said.
“How’s Mickey?” I asked.
“He’s there until Monday morning’s arraignment. I couldn’t get him out.” That was a surprise. She could always get them out.
She took off her jacket and poured herself a brandy. “They’ve charged him with the fire, too.”
I sat up straighter. “Arson murder?” Pretty damn serious charge. “No one would say whether it was arson.”
“It was. In the dining room. They found accelerant. Gasoline.” I knew she was telling me this because I’d find out anyway.
“But he was in Boston,” I said.
She shook her head. “He can’t prove it. Hotels have that express checkout now, you don’t even have to turn in a key or check at the desk when you leave. The maid found the computer printout on the floor in the room, but Mickey says he just forgot it when he left because he was worried about LeeAnn. He could’ve left anytime.”
This didn’t bode well.
“Do they have the gun?” I asked.
“Yes. They found it in the trunk of his car. He says he didn’t know it was there.” She looked me straight in the eye. “I believe him.”
So did I. Why the hell would someone murder someone and then not get rid of the weapon? Nobody would be that stupid. We all watch TV.
Secondhand Smoke Page 9
