But Nina had stopped listening. She appeared to have fallen into a nap. Paul yawned. The big bed was a universe unto itself, the covers so thick and warm . . . he drifted off, too.
Paul woke up about one, his stomach growling. Nina still lay on her side, her long brown hair spilling onto her white shoulder. What a shame he was starving. He shook her gently and said, “Awake, my little honeybee. We skipped dinner. Let’s eat.”
She opened her eyes and seemed glad to see him. What more could a man ask for? Except a good meal?
“But I do have one more question about this business before we throw back the covers and you expose that enticing body of yours to the air and my worshipful gaze.”
“Wha’?” she said.
“About Clifford Wright.”
“What about him?”
“You sure got lucky there.”
“Huh?”
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd?”
She was waking up fast now. “Odd?” she said, the intelligence returning to her eyes. As he watched, absorbed by the transformation, the emphases of her face shifted from soft cheeks and full lips to jawbone and eyebrows. “There’s nothing new on him. Case closed. Just a freak medical occurrence.”
“Did you get a chance to look at the coroner’s report on his death?”
“Why would I?”
“Monumental coincidence or act o’ God?” said Paul. “Only Madame Zelda knows, and she’s getting out of the business.”
Her lips drew a hard line. “You smell fish everywhere you go, don’t you? There’s no mystery here. He died of anaphylactic shock from eating something.”
“Most people with allergies find out about it before keeling over in the jury room.”
“Oh, he knew he had food allergies,” Nina said. “He talked about them to everyone, practically. We even knew from all those super-duper quiz sheets we got about the jurors. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“I don’t remember hearing about it.”
“Apparently, he had medicine that might have saved him, but nobody knew. What’s it called . . .”
“You mean an adrenaline kit.”
“Yes. You poke yourself in the leg with epinephrine, which immediately stops the allergic reaction. Sandy told me about a doctor down in southern California with an allergy to shellfish who recently died from anaphylaxis. Stuck his nose over a pan of boiling seafood. He had forgotten his allergy kit.”
“Why didn’t Wright use his?”
“The jurors say he mumbled something about his jacket, which was right there in the closet, but they thought he was delirious. Deputy Kim found it after he was in the hospital. His breathing became blocked so quickly he never got to use it.”
“So you don’t plan to check further into what happened.”
“Why would I? It’s unfortunate, but nothing to do with me.”
“No urge to examine your gift horse too closely,” said Paul. “I do see your position.” He hadn’t meant it to sound the way it came out, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nina said, pushing his hand off.
“What’s the matter?” he said putting it back.
She batted it firmly away. “Why can’t you just accept it that I won this case, fair and square? Why can’t you let me have that? You chip away at my success, hinting around that I couldn’t have pulled it off if Clifford Wright hadn’t died. Jesus.”
Paul fell silent for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I never congratulated you. And you’re so terrific, even out of bed. You’re brilliant, beautiful, brave, bosomy . . .”
“Thank you,” Nina said.
“Soon to be rich,” he said.
Apparently mollified, she said, “Don’t go tacky on me now.”
“Okay, good. Let’s turn our attention back to that very issue that’s hovering around us like a swarm of starving mosquitoes. We need to talk about how this change in your financial status is going to affect our relationship. There are some things to consider.”
“I thought you were starving,” said Nina.
“Shhh.” Turning over to face her, he put a finger over her lips. “Mail-order catalogs, for starters. You can finally afford a pair of those undies . . . you know the ones, don’t you? With the missing bits here,” he said, showing her where, “and right here.” His hand lingered. “Let’s splurge. Get two, in black silk and red. Net stockings to match and one of those things women wore back in the good old days when men ruled the universe without challenge . . .”
“A garter belt?”
“That’s it! Yum. The possibilities rise up like . . . like—”
“Like wet dough!” she said.
“Like a hunk of burnin’ love,” said Paul, inserting his tongue into her ear.
Before she could say another thing, he jumped her.
Then they went down to the kitchen and made toast and eggs and drank all the milk.
On Saturday they rented separate paddleboats and raced each other around Zephyr Cove until the setting sun blinded them, then returned to Nina’s to change into their fanciest duds for a celebration dinner Lindy was hosting at The Summit.
Nina took Paul’s arm as they arrived at the restaurant on the seventeenth floor of Harrah’s. Piano blues surrounded them, sensual as incense.
“I feel so grown up, suddenly,” she said, enjoying the scratchiness of his jacket and happy he was here to share this night with her. “Do you remember the first time we met at that place in Carmel?” She led the way into the restaurant behind the maitre d’.
“How could I forget? A blind date. And then you went off and married Jack.”
“When did we become the kind of people that go to places like this? Where’s the band with the electrified hair and distortion pedal?”
“It’s perfect, Nina,” Paul said, reaching out to shake Winston’s hand.
They sat down at a window table. Outside, way down, the lights of town twinkled. Lindy had already ordered champagne. Sandy, dressed in a shiny amethyst-colored beaded shirt over a long black skirt, argued with Nina over who could order the salmon with lemon couscous and who got the rack of lamb. They compromised by deciding to share. Next to her, Sandy’s son, Wish, demonstrated how to play spoons to a Scott Joplin tune.
Wearing an emerald-green jacket over white slacks and low heels, Lindy faced the window. Nina knew she had invited her friend Alice to the celebration, but Alice couldn’t make it.
After greeting Nina and Paul, she leaned forward and gazed at the lights beyond the glass, looking a little shell-shocked. “Isn’t it thrilling how it’s all worked out?” she told Nina. “Isn’t it strange?”
Sandy offered up a toast to “The lake of the sky, Tahoe, where anything can happen and does,” and they worked their way through two bottles before eating.
Throughout the meal, Nina couldn’t help noticing things had somehow changed between Winston and Genevieve. Genevieve continued to tune her behavior to his mood, offering him butter, salt, whatever he seemed to need, but he seemed distracted. Nina supposed he, too, was turning his mind to the future, a future where Genevieve would figure less prominently.
“Where will you go, Genevieve?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve got a million ideas! Only you know what? I can hardly think about that right now. I get so worked up during these damn things, I don’t sleep. But I can’t imagine going back to L.A. and starting over again, which is probably exactly what I’ll be doin’.” She looked and sounded tired. Underneath the gaiety, they all must be. They had crammed a couple of years’ worth of work into eight months. And they had won!
They commiserated for a few minutes about the difficult transition to daily routines after the epic intensity of the past months.
“Like my mother used to say,” Paul butted in. “These are good problems to have. What will you be doing next, Lindy?”
She looked startled by the sudden attention. Her plate was still full of food. Apparently, she
had preferred the champagne. Her eyes had a glassy sheen. “Oh, I’ll just go about the usual routines of a wealthy woman,” she said. “Teas. Parties. Mansion-shopping.”
“Poor you,” Genevieve said, making light of her mood.
“You mean rich me,” said Lindy, and everyone laughed, including Lindy.
After dinner, Nina asked Winston about his plans.
“I’ve got some paperwork to go through and some expenses to add up for Sandy,” he said, winking at Sandy. “Then I’m planning to take a couple of days before I go back to enjoy this fine spring weather, get some exercise. I feel like I’ve hardly moved for months.”
“Jogging every spare moment doesn’t count, I suppose,” said Sandy.
“Oh, and I brought a few things here. Little thank-yous for all your help.” Winston reached into a bag beside his chair, bringing out a huge package for Sandy, and a tie-sized box for Wish.
“Now don’t look so gloomy,” he said, handing over the box to Wish. “I promise, someday soon, you’ll need a tie.”
“Hey, really, Mr. Reynolds. This is just great.” Wish smiled feebly. He tore off the ribbon and ripped the box opening it. “Silk, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Great.” Wish held the blue tie close to his eyes, as if the details in the pattern might cast light on what had possessed a smart guy like Winston to choose such an outlandish and inappropriate gift.
Winston broke into full-throttle laughter. “Well, glad you like it.”
Sandy opened her much larger package carefully, setting the floral wrap neatly to the side of her place, untying the ribbon, and placing the interior tissue in a tidy stack until Wish looked ready to grab the box from her and tear into it himself.
Inside, nestled like an animal, was something thick and soft.
“What is it, Mom?” asked Wish impatiently. “C’mon, get it out.”
“I looked at a few moth-eaten ones before I found this one. It’s been well-cared-for,” said Winston.
“Where did you find it?” she demanded.
“In a shop in Minden. The proprietor told me the family that owned it sold everything they had and moved to Stockton last month. They told him the man’s great-grandfather made it. This was the last one he made before he died sometime in the fifties, at least that’s what the dealer claimed. They had found it stored very carefully in a cedar-lined trunk. Never used it.”
But Sandy stared into the box for a long time before pulling the object out to hold up. “A rabbit-skin blanket,” she said. “My mother had one when I was a kid that looked like this.”
“Those were big with the Washoe,” Wish explained to Nina, whose puzzlement must have showed.
“That’s what the dealer told me. Said they keep you so warm at night, even up in Alpine County at six thousand feet in the wintertime, you could sleep in the nude in a lean-to,” Winston teased. “Of course I thought of you, Sandy.”
But the joke was lost on Sandy, who stroked the blanket with a reverent hand, saying, “Each blanket lasted three years, then you made another.” She scrutinized the front and back, then looked at Winston with the same intense interest. “You must have paid a lot.”
“They are rare,” Winston agreed.
“Used to be the Washoe hunted rabbits with nets, shooting arrows at the rabbits, who ran into the net thinking they were escaping,” Sandy said. “Four or five hundred a day were killed. Then they cut the hides into strings and dried them for a day and a half. Twenty-five strings made one jackrabbit blanket for two people.”
“I’m saving for a down blanket this winter,” said Wish stoutly. “No animals die, and it’s just as warm.”
“But when this blanket was made, life was different,” said Sandy, pulling the blanket up to rub against her cheek, “In those days, you survived without money. Even up here in Tahoe where it gets really cold.”
The shift in atmosphere was subtle. Winston handed out more gifts, exotic flowers for Nina, Genevieve, and Lindy, a pen for Paul. Sandy put the rabbit-skin blanket across a chair.
It sat there, a reminder of times when money meant nothing. The conversation lagged.
“Oh, it is beautiful this year, isn’t it?” said Nina, hoping to bring back their earlier good spirits. “More beautiful than I can ever remember. Cobalt-blue skies, cartoon clouds, a great success to celebrate . . .”
“Will you listen to this girl. She’s giddy with success!” Lindy said. “Let’s do one last toast, to Nina and her Irish luck.”
They raised coffee cups and glasses to her, and drank.
“This had nothing to do with luck, you know,” Nina said. “Without you all . . .”
“Stop her before she gushes,” commanded Winston.
“And Paul here . . .” she said.
“ . . . whom we have forgiven for not pegging Wright as a problem,” said Winston, interrupting her train of thought.
“Let’s not get into that again, Winston,” Genevieve said. “None of us had Wright pegged, except maybe Nina. Anyway, he’s no danger to us anymore.”
“According to Paul, maybe he is,” said Nina. She felt a need to speak about this, even as she realized she was contributing to the erosion of good feeling they had built up.
“What do you mean?” asked Sandy.
“If you can believe this, he’s hinted around that he finds the circumstances of Wright’s death terribly suspicious.”
“How can an allergic reaction be suspicious?” Winston asked.
“I don’t know,” said Nina. “Ask the expert.”
Winston shifted in his chair to face Paul more directly. “What are you thinking?”
“He thinks someone spiked the food,” said Nina. “Crazy, huh?”
Their waiter picked up Lindy’s credit card and the bill, and walked off while the party stared at Paul, agog.
“All this commuting you have been doing between Carmel, Washington, and Tahoe has driven you completely around the bend,” said Winston.
“It’s just peculiar,” said Paul, “him keeling over. Maybe—”
“Stop right there,” Winston said. “That’s useless conjecturing. Do you realize if you even hint at this notion of yours to anyone you could cause us a huge delay?” asked Winston. “An investigation by the police could hold up our money for months.”
“Believe me, I never intended to hint at anything.”
“He just doesn’t like peculiar things,” said Nina, recognizing for the first time she, too, had had too much to drink. Her head was spinning. . . .
Paul took her arm and helped her up. “I think we’ll be going now,” he said. “Anyone need a ride?”
No one did.
“You’re not taking this further, are you?” Winston asked as the rest of them stood up to say good-bye.
“No,” said Paul. “As far as I know, everyone’s satisfied this was an accidental death. Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, yeah,” Winston said. “Uh-huh. It always starts so innocently, but later there’s running and screaming.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Sandy.
“It’s from a movie,” Winston said, “about monsters getting loose.”
30
Monday morning when Paul reached for Nina, he found only the indentation of her body beside him. He stretched, pulled on a pair of khaki shorts, and padded barefoot down to the kitchen, where she had left him a pot of coffee smoking and black with age. A note on the counter directed him to cereal and bananas, but he didn’t want to cook. After making himself a fresh pot of coffee, he took a steaming mug out onto the deck with the morning paper, settled in, and made himself at home among the pines in Nina’s backyard.
An hour later he was caffeine-boosted and ready to move. He packed up his things, throwing the comforter over Nina’s messy bed. Before leaving, he called his office, directory assistance, Sandy at Nina’s office, and a number down south, spending nearly an hour on the phone.
In the van, he paused for a mome
nt to consider his options. Nina for lunch, that was a given.
He would be heading home tonight. A little Monday morning gambling? Too decadent. A run in the thin mountain air? It would be good for him, but . . . it would be more interesting to check on the silly little thing that was nagging at him.
From the bin between the two front seats, he removed a Lake Tahoe telephone directory he had permanently borrowed from a motel a couple of years before. Flipping to the county government offices pages, he browsed for El Dorado, finding the office he wanted on Johnson Boulevard.
He dialed a number, asking for directions and a fifteen minute appointment, which was, a little to his surprise, granted.
The medical examiner had his office in the same complex as the courthouse where he needed to meet Nina later. How convenient.
“Nice to have things quiet again,” said Sandy when Nina finally climbed down from the Annapurna of papers on her desk for a midmorning cup of coffee. “Everyone’s coming in late.” She stood in the doorway of Nina’s office, her own fresh coffee in hand.
“Everyone’s pooped,” said Nina. The last months had been hell. They deserved to sleep late. “Did I thank you for holding this place together while I was so swamped?”
“Yes, but feel free to thank me again.” The long line of Sandy’s lips extended slightly.
“And you’re due for a big bonus when my fee comes in.”
A quiver of her eyelid suggested that Sandy found this very exciting news. “Should we start looking for bigger offices?”
“No.”
“Why not? You’ll want to expand a little. Not enough to upset our little applecart here, of course, but a little. Since the trial ended, you look like a ghost rattling her chains. You need a project.”
“There’s always a letdown after a trial but I’m not sure expanding the business is what I should do.”
Sandy stared at her. “You have some other plan you forgot to mention?”
“Maybe I’ll take some time off. Maybe a year.”
Sandy sucked in her breath. “So it comes to this,” she said.
“Comes to what?”
“Money. That’s what it does . . . it gets inside people. They forget who they are.” She seemed to be recalling something unpleasant. “I should have known. Since the beginning of this case, you’ve been compromising like crazy.”
BREACH OF PROMISE Page 32
