by Abby Drake
Thirty-five
CJ hadn’t wanted to talk to Elinor until she’d returned home, changed out of the polyester, and poured a glass of wine. She’d decided to tell her she was done with the charade.
Sitting on the sofa now, her feet propped on the footstool and Luna stretched out, with her chin on CJ’s lap, CJ took a long drink and turned on her phone. There were seven messages, which she chose to ignore. Elinor, no doubt, whining for help.
Slowly, she dialed. If she was lucky, Elinor wouldn’t have reception.
“Where the hell have you been?” her twin’s voice bellowed before CJ had even heard the other end ring.
“I’ve been trying to clean up your messes, E.”
“Don’t start, CJ. You’re not attractive when you’re mean.”
“And you’re not attractive when you’re a train wreck. Are you still coming home tomorrow?”
“If you mean, did I get the money, the answer is yes. All in untraceable debit cards. Has there been any word from my…friend?”
CJ told her that Malcolm had come home, that she’d stolen the handsets, that she was back at the cottage and not at Elinor’s.
Her sister paused for a long time, because it was so rare for anything she’d planned to go so awry. “Well, that’s great,” she finally said.
“Sorry. I did my best.”
“What about Alice? Did she learn anything at the hotel yesterday?”
“No.” Even as done as CJ was, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Elinor about the debacle that had ensued, and that she’d gone today and been mistaken for Elinor by the housekeeper. Some things would keep until Elinor was home.
“E,” CJ said, “have you given any more thought to telling Malcolm about it?”
“No, and I won’t.”
“It’s just that he’s a lobbyist, E. He understands give and take. Maybe he’d have some ideas.”
“About how to shake up the current administration?”
“No, Elinor. About how to get out of this with grace and dignity.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I’ve called Remy three times, but now I can’t get through. His assistant says he’ll let me know when he can schedule a meeting, but I think Remy’s angry that I’m being pushy.”
In spite of her annoyance, CJ felt a twinge of sorrow. “Oh, E, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry. You know it’s my own fault. What did I expect? I’ll tell you what I expected. I expected not to be treated like somebody’s whore. I expected not to be tossed out like yesterday’s champagne gone flat.”
It was a lousy analogy, even for Elinor. Still, it reminded CJ of the glass in her hand, so she took another long drink. After she swallowed, she asked, “What will you do, E?”
“I will fly home tomorrow, and you will pick me up. I will act as if nothing happened, because so far, nothing really has. And I will go to Washington on Saturday for Jonas and Lucinda’s big party. And when I see Remy, I will be polite, even reverent, because he is the vice president, and that’s what Daddy would expect.” Then Elinor started to cry.
CJ teared up as well, because that’s the way CJ thought it worked with identical twins, as if both of their hearts were simultaneously pierced. She’d never been sure, though, if Elinor had ached when CJ had. She’d never been sure because she hadn’t dared ask.
After a moment, CJ said, “E, there’s something else. Something small, really.” She closed her eyes, as if that would make what she had to say easier. “You’d better call Malcolm tonight. I was backed into a corner. I said you’d be home today. I thought he’d ask too many questions if I told him you’d be gone until Friday.”
Elinor let out a long rush of air. “Well, this keeps getting better and better.”
“Sorry, it’s what I had to do. And don’t forget to call his cell number, because the handsets for your land line are out in my car.”
Elinor didn’t say thank you. She merely said, “Pick me up tomorrow” and hung up before CJ could say good-bye.
Alice turned on the laptop she’d brought in order to make arrangements to meet Bud, the theme-park magician. She and Kiley Kate had already signed in at the registration desk and picked up their packet of instructions, agendas, and requisite nametags. Now Kiley Kate was having a bubble bath in the pink garden tub of their petite suite.
According to the agenda, preliminaries would be that evening, finals in two sessions tomorrow: one morning, one afternoon.
Alice logged on and went to her mailbox. A little red dot indicated a message.
Her hand hesitated before clicking. She did love Neal, really she did. What would life be like without him? At her age. What would she do?
What would Elinor do if she were Alice?
Alice stared at the little red dot. Elinor, she knew, would take care of herself. She would get a huge alimony and end up with the property and carry on pretty much the same way.
Until she found another man. And started all over again.
But what about Alice? Despite all these years, despite all her attempts, she was not Elinor and never would be. Oh, she’d go for the alimony, all right. But then what? She wasn’t manipulative and calculating the way Elinor apparently could be. She didn’t know one-tenth of the people Elinor did. She could hardly step into the job market. She’d married Neal before finishing college. A few hours a week in her father’s bakery thirty years ago wouldn’t translate into marketable skills.
She thought about Neal again. Her eyes stung with betrayal. Her little game was just that: a game. Somehow she suspected Neal’s was much more.
She clicked the red dot. Preliminary auditions started at 6:00, with Kiley Kate scheduled for 7:15. They’d be wrapped up by 9:00, leaving plenty of time for Alice to hook up with Bud around 10:00.
She might as well start her new life now. With the one chance that she had.
“That’s where it happened,” Poppy said to Manny as she pointed to the garden beneath CJ’s cottage window. “That’s where I killed him.” Manny put his arm around her; she could have died right then and been fine.
“Let’s go in,” he said quietly. “It looks like she’s home.”
Poppy took a last look at the rhododendron now planted where the gardener had once been. It seemed like such a long time ago now. Almost as if someone else had done it, not her.
CJ opened the front door. “I saw you pull in. Is everything all right?”
“Have you seen Duane?” Poppy asked.
CJ shook her head. “Why?”
“He’s gone. We thought he might have gone after Elinor. But Malcolm is at the house. I think he’s alone. We were afraid Duane had found you.”
“And done what?”
“I don’t know. Oh, CJ, I’m so afraid he’s the blackmailer. I’m so afraid he found out about Elinor having an affair and decided to get money to reopen his mine and, oh, Lord, I’m so afraid about everything!”
Manny stepped forward. “She thinks everything is her fault.”
“I know,” CJ said. “She always has.”
“We’ve sent Yolanda to be with Elinor,” Manny continued. “In case he followed her to Cayman.”
But CJ didn’t look terribly frightened. “I don’t think Duane did it,” she said.
“But his brother wants a half million dollars! For all we know Duane really is the one E’s been sleeping with! And now he wants the money to keep quiet!”
“I don’t think it’s Duane.” CJ sounded insistent.
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m pretty sure,” CJ said.
Poppy stared at her, then looked at Manny, then looked back at CJ.
“Sooner or later,” CJ continued, “twins find out everything.”
“Do you know who her lover is?”
“I know it’s not Duane.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, he could still be the blackmailer.”
“I doubt it. I think this is
out of his league.”
“Have you seen the note?” Manny asked.
“No.”
“Get it from your sister. Please. It’s the only real clue we have at the moment.”
“She’ll be home tomorrow. Would you like to come in? Would you like a drink or something?”
Poppy shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said. “We have to go. The baby’s in the car, and I’m under arrest.”
Thirty-six
Yolanda stepped off the plane just before dusk and was greeted by a warm rush of tropical air. She was Cuban by blood, 100 percent, but she’d never had a desire to visit the Caribbean, even though Vincent had often asked her to go. She’d wondered if her disinterest had come from a secret fear that if she’d gone, she’d have wanted to stay.
It was her heritage, after all. Palm trees and steel drums and bright-colored clothes.
Dios mio, she thought. I might as well go out with Junior.
Slinging her Coach signature duffle—a gift from a happy, white-haired customer—over her shoulder, Yolanda headed straight for the rental-car counter. She had not checked any luggage: she’d been more concerned about what Belita would need overnight.
Using Poppy’s credit card, she rented a Ford Escort and picked up a map of the island. Once situated, she turned on her phone and called Elinor. Thankfully, the call went through.
“It’s Yolanda,” she said when Elinor answered. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right. I’m stuck here on an island with a half million dollars.”
“Tell me where you are. I’m coming to be with you.”
“What?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just say where you are. My brother and Poppy think you might be in danger.”
Instead of going back to Poppy’s for the dreaded house search, Poppy convinced Manny they should go to Momma’s. She said there was something she had to do.
Momma was resting, so Poppy cooked supper—grilled cheese sandwiches, the only thing she knew how to make. But there was ice cream in the freezer—strawberry swirl, which Manny said was one of his favorites, unless he was lying because he was still hungry.
Never having had grandkids, Momma did not have a crib, but she did have a large cradle that Cain and Abel had shared before they’d been allowed to join Momma in bed.
Under Poppy’s directive (Momma was feeling better by evening, but Poppy had suggested she stay under the covers), Lucky, Momma’s companion, scrubbed down the cradle and brought it from the storeroom into the silver room, where they could keep an eye on the child while Poppy tended to her task. She lined the cradle with a soft comforter, though Belita didn’t seem to care very much; she fell asleep right after her uncle Manny whispered something in Spanish, kissed her goodnight, and safely tucked her in.
“Now,” Poppy said, “I’ll need paper and a pen.” She went to the secretary’s desk opposite the grand piano and plucked out a sheath of engraved ivory paper and a ladies’ platinum-and-diamond Montblanc.
She was aware that Manny’s eyes were upon her as she went to the bookshelves and carefully started her task. The fact that CJ was sure Duane wasn’t Elinor’s lover did not mean he wasn’t her blackmailer. Not that it mattered. Duane and his antics had nothing to do with Poppy’s need to finally purge the weight of her own sins.
Sterling humidor, she wrote on one line. Grand Hotel, Mackinac Island, Michigan, 1992.
She moved a step to the left. Sugar shell, Queen Elizabeth II, 1986.
“Poppy,” Manny said with a grin, “what are you doing?”
“I’m making a list. For when I go to prison. Everything I took should go back to its rightful owners. In the morning I’ll tell Momma her trinkets have gone to a museum. That will make her feel good. Her special things on display in a big museum.”
Suddenly he was behind her. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I want a clean conscience, Manny. I don’t want to give anyone power over my secrets anymore.” She gritted her teeth to stop from crying.
Ashtray, Fountainbleau, Miami Beach, 1991.
His hands rested on her shoulders. “I can help if you want.”
She shook her head. “You’ve helped me enough. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have the courage to be doing this. When I’m in prison, I’ll remember this, Manny. I’ll remember how kind you were to me.”
He turned her around, took the paper and pen from her hands, tilted her chin, and kissed her. Gently. Long. With warmth like Poppy never had known. This time, she couldn’t hold back her tears.
“I’ll do everything to help you get through this,” Manny said as he pulled from the kiss and held her close.
She shook her head. “I’ll get what I deserve, Manny. But maybe it isn’t too late to help Elinor.”
Kiley Kate sailed through the preliminaries like the star she was becoming. As did Morgan Johnson and Taylor LeDuc.
Grrr.
Unfortunately, Alice was not a good judge of whether or not the others had done well: Her focus had been not on the glitter of the stage but on her ten o’clock date, which had taken on a whole new importance.
She’d bought Kiley Kate a light supper, helped remove her makeup, then tucked her into bed. By now her granddaughter knew the routine: Alice left the girl’s cell phone on the nightstand while she went downstairs for a “nightcap.” She instructed Kiley Kate to call right away if she was afraid of being alone: to date, Kiley Kate never had.
Still, Alice felt guilty as she stepped into the elevator and pressed L for the lobby. Guilty and reluctant and no longer sure about much of anything.
She stepped into the lounge and scanned the long bar. A few couples, a few men alone, two women together, whom Alice recognized as mothers of contestants.
She didn’t, however, see a man who looked like the rather bland Internet photo, no one who looked as if he wasn’t there on business, no one who looked like a theme-park magician.
The clock over the bar read 10:05. Should she sit down as they’d planned? Or would Bud stand her up? Would that be a sign of things to come for a middle-aged woman in search of a man?
Oh God, Alice thought, will I become one of those?
Then again, she thought as she stared at a leather-covered barstool that sinfully beckoned, maybe being stood up wouldn’t be the worst that could happen. Since she’d started having the hot flashes, decisions were easier when someone else made them.
“Alice?”
He was so soft-spoken that she’d barely heard him.
“It’s me. Bud.”
He was taller than she was, with silver-gray hair and a gentle smile. He was one of the men dressed like an executive. He did not look like a theme-park magician.
She followed him to a small table, where he pulled out her chair for her. After she sat down, he seated himself, toyed with the candle, and straightened the little tent card that advertised a fruity drink made of three rums.
“So,” he said. “You’re Alice.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m from Topeka.”
He smiled and asked her what she’d like to drink. She asked for a glass of Chardonnay, then the waitress appeared and he ordered her wine and one bourbon, neat.
Bourbon, Neal’s favorite.
She shifted on the chair and tried to gather her feelings. Had Neal met his lover in a hotel bar?
“So,” he said, “what do you do in Topeka?”
“I’m a hairstylist,” she said suddenly, knowing Yolanda would get a good laugh out of that. “I have my own salon. I’m here at a hair-care products convention.”
He nodded, as if he believed there were such things. “Divorced?”
“Seven years. No kids. You?”
“Three years. A twenty-five-year-old daughter.”
Same age as Felicity. She pushed back a wave of shame that her daughters might somehow learn what she was doing. “I’ve never met a magician before.”
“I’m not very good.”
&
nbsp; Alice laughed. Bud was charming. Maybe life without Neal wouldn’t need to be horrific after all. “Have you been doing it long?”
“Years. I started at hospitals. Pediatric wards. When I finally mastered removing a string of two dozen handkerchiefs from my pocket, I moved on up to the theme parks.”
“An interesting way to make a living.”
Bud laughed. “Hardly a living. I’m a volunteer. In real life I’m an advertising executive. I started on Madison Avenue in New York. I came down here to get out of the cold.”
Had he said he was an advertising executive? If so, this must have been a joke. Neal must have learned what she’d been doing. He must have set her up.
How dare he?
A tingle began in her toes and skated up her legs to her stomach.
“Would you rather I was merely a magician?” Bud asked.
“Actually, yes,” she said. “My ex-husband was in advertising.” It was a line she supposed she’d have to get used to saying.
Thirty-seven
“So Alice got nowhere and CJ got nowhere and now everyone thinks Poppy’s husband is coming to get me?”
“Something like that,” Yolanda said after Elinor let her into her hotel room and locked the door securely behind her.
Yolanda sat down on a rattan chair. She was surprised Elinor was in such a mediocre room in such a mediocre hotel.
The paddle fan droned while Elinor paced. “And you’ve left your child and your business to come and protect me?”
Yolanda shrugged. “Someone had to. I know I’m not really one of your friends, Elinor, but I do care what happens to you.” The last thing she expected was for Elinor to cry.
“Oh, Dios mio,” Yolanda said, “it isn’t so bad. We’ll figure this out.”
“No,” Elinor whispered. “You don’t understand. I was approached by a man. But it wasn’t Duane.”
“Who was it?”
“I have no idea. He came up to me last night. Right here. He wanted to buy me a drink.”
“Did you let him?”
“No. I said I had to meet my husband. Then I left.”
“That doesn’t sound suspicious, Elinor. You’re still a good-looking woman.”
