Beyond Eden

by Catherine Coulter

  He winked at Taylor. It made Taylor shake his head. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Barry wasted no time. When they were in the small private waiting room at the end of the corridor, he said to Judge Foxe, “I understand you’re furious because your mother left all her money to Lindsay.”

  “Not bad, Sergeant,” Royce Foxe said. “Not wonderful either, but you might improve with practice.”

  Taylor winked at Barry. The man was something else.

  “Well, weren’t you pissed about it? Didn’t you try to get Lindsay to sign over her inheritance to you?”

  “Certainly. It’s only right. I am the only heir, the real heir, not her. My mother was old, she was losing it, quite badly really. I’m not yet certain how Lindsay got to her, but I will find out. Then she will lose all of the money. However, I wouldn’t murder my own daughter.”

  He laughed, a soft, mellow sound. “I’ve seen a lot of very strange fathers during my years on the bench, Sergeant, but as a federal judge, it simply wouldn’t do for me to kill my daughter. For any reason.”

  Holly said, pointing a beringed finger toward Taylor, “It’s absurd! All of it! I’ll just bet Lindsay got herself mixed up with him and now she doesn’t want him anymore because she has money and he hasn’t and he tried to kill her!”

  “Her mind isn’t polished,” Royce remarked to Barry, “but she does have rather pointed notions, does she not?”

  Sydney said, “This is absurd, Sergeant. None of us would harm Lindsay. Don’t you have any real leads? Perhaps it really was an accident after all.”

  “No, it wasn’t an accident,” Taylor said. “ Incidentally, the police will be getting financial statements on all of you. You talk a good game, Mr. Foxe—”

  “Judge Foxe.”

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we? I was a cop, and like you, I’ve seen a lot of strange fathers. I consider you one of the most remarkable and uncommon of any I’ve ever run into.”

  “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I was referring to Lindsay’s rape by her brother-in-law, and how you turned on her, how you dished your own daughter up to the press.”

  Royce Foxe turned pale with anger. “So that’s what she told you, is it! That damned little ingrate, that stupid slut, why I’ll—” He broke off, as if realizing what he was doing, and in front of a cop.

  Royce waved a negligent hand, back in control again. “My wife and I are staying at the Plaza. If you wish to speak further with us, Sergeant, we will, of course, oblige. We will remain in New York for only two days. No reason to stay longer if Lindsay is going to live.”

  “Yeah, you can count out any funeral plans, Judge,” Taylor said. He watched, without moving, until Foxe was out of sight. “I want to do something very painful to him,” he said to Enoch.

  “Me too, boyo.”

  Later that afternoon when Lindsay awoke, Taylor said to her, “I’ve made a decision, Lindsay.”

  He saw fear instantly leap into her eyes and wanted to kick himself.

  “Just stop it, do you hear me? I don’t give a rat’s ass that you didn’t tell me who you were. I even understand why you didn’t. I know now, and I’d like to punch your father’s lights out. He’s a shit. Actually, he’s one of the very biggest shits I’ve ever run into. You’re not. I love you and I’ll always love you. If it’s okay with you, here’s what I want to do—”

  “No, stop,” she said. Lindsay closed her eyes, feeling the pain swamp her, trying to control it. She did, finally. “I believe you love me, Taylor. I think it’s miraculous, but I believe that you’ll always love me. You’ve never lied to me and you never would. You’re just not made that way. You say who I am doesn’t matter to you. I believe you. I’m very grateful to you for that.

  “Now, I honestly can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt me, except my family.” She paused, looking over his left shoulder. Then her eyes met his and she said very quietly, “If it is my family, then there’s a solution. Will you marry me now? As soon as possible? Then if my family is behind it for the money, they wouldn’t have a motive anymore because you’d be my beneficiary.”

  Taylor smiled. He had been on the point of asking her to marry him for the same reason. “You’re pretty smart, you know that? How about tomorrow afternoon? You’re a Protestant. I know a Presbyterian minister. Is that okay?”

  She nodded, relief and happiness overcoming the pain.

  Taylor tried to choose his words carefully, but he didn’t entirely succeed. “Your father’s behavior appears irrational to me. So is your half-sister’s. As for your stepmother, she’s practically off the deep end. If one of them—or both or all three—were behind the attempt on your life, then once we’re married, I really do think you’re right. They’ll not forgive, but they will forget.”

  “What about the prince?”

  “Sergeant Kinsley has checked. Sure enough, the prince is here in New York. He cleared customs on Sunday. He’s staying with his wife. If the motive is money, the police will discover it soon enough.” He felt her become rigid, felt the awful fear come into her, saw it in her eyes.

  “It’s okay. I’m afraid, too, but let me tell you something, Lindsay. If that man tries to come near you, I’ll hurt him. Please believe me, because I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Like you hurt Demos?”

  “Lots worse.”

  “I’ll look real silly in a wedding veil right now.”

  “Once you’re unwrapped and rid of your cocoon and feeling back to normal, we’ll do it again. I love you. Will you marry me tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Lindsay closed her eyes. Married to Taylor. She saw her father’s face. Saw his rage, for he would be enraged because he’d see himself unable to coerce her once Taylor was her husband. Had he tried to have her killed? She saw Holly and knew she was as furious as her husband. Both of them hated her, blamed her for somehow making her grandmother leave her everything. Lindsay still wondered, she still couldn’t figure out why her grandmother had left her the money. She was very tired. Her face throbbed and pressed heavily down. Her ribs rubbed and gnawed. She hated the sound of the soft hissing. The doctor had said perhaps tomorrow she would be unhooked from the lung machine. But Taylor had agreed to marry her. Everything would be all right.

  Taylor kissed her and left, telling her he’d be back in a couple of hours.

  He’d hired a private nurse, Missy Dubinsky. She entered the moment he left, big breasts bouncing, full hips straining at the white pants, smarmy big smile. Lindsay knew it was wise that she never be alone, but the woman was simply too cheerful and so thrilled to be taking care of a beautiful model. She oozed goodwill. Lindsay ground her teeth and kept silent.

  Jesus, she thought. Beautiful—she touched her fingertips to the thick bandages that covered her head and the right side of her face.

  Yeah, some beauty she was now. She hadn’t believed Dr. Perry. She wasn’t stupid. Taylor had spoken easily about her career, questioning her about the future and what she wanted. No, she wasn’t stupid. He was preparing her. She just prayed she wouldn’t look like a freak, with one eye lower than the other. She just prayed Taylor wouldn’t feel revulsion once the bandages were off and the stitches taken out. She prayed Taylor really loved her.

  At least she was alive.

  Who had tried to kill her?

  21

  It was a lovely wedding. Never mind that the bride was propped up in bed wearing a hospital nightgown beneath a satin bed robe—white, of course—holding a bouquet of roses in her right hand and her head wrapped in white bandages.

  Still, Gayle Werth and Sheila Sackett had gotten together and in the space of twenty-four hours, along with the help of the nurses and orderlies and doctors, had turned the room into a flower garden of red roses and white carnations. They’d even draped the bed and windows with pink and white crepe paper. The one Monet print on the wall opposite the bed had a big white bow on it.

  The staff had done e
ven more. The nurses had given Lindsay a huge box of condoms and wrapped her lung machine with a huge red bow. The card on the condoms read: “Soon to be replaced.” The card on the lung machine read: “Soon to be gone.”

  Dr. Perry had given her an antique mirror-and-brush set, telling her as she opened it that she was going to be beautiful very soon again and he wanted her to have a mirror close at hand to admire herself and to admire him. Demos and Glen weren’t to be outdone. They’d provided for home delivery of two dozen gourmet meals from La Viande. Demos said, “Well, I know for a fact that all Lindsay can manage is a salami sandwich. She said you were the cook, Taylor, but I didn’t believe her.” He turned to Lindsay and took her hand. “I want my models to suffer to stay thin. Did I say that all the meals were seven courses?”

  As for Taylor, he laughed at the condoms and was grateful for the meals, since he could count his own ribs now. As for Lindsay, she was a stick. He prayed that Dr. Perry would have a fine life for his kindness.

  It was Enoch who remembered one dark wool suit. He had it cleaned along with a white dress shirt, and brought it to the apartment an hour before the wedding at the hospital.

  “Cufflinks,” Taylor said, scrambling through the dresser drawers.

  “Here,” Enoch said, and handed him a gold pair in the shape of unicorns. “I thought you’d be too nervous to think about anything on your own. These were my dad’s. Sheila always said he was into fantasy. Then she always smiles. It’s tough thinking about your parents making out, you know?”

  “Thanks.” Taylor turned to give his friend a distracted smile. “Thanks too for the piano lessons from you and your mom. How did you know that I wanted to learn and Lindsay already played?”

  Enoch tapped the side of his head. “Mom says our brains go back to before the Mayflower.”

  “Yeah, right. Hey, Enoch, do you see any pigs taking off outside?”

  In the taxi Enoch said, “Look, Taylor, try out a smile on me. You’re getting married, not going to a funeral.”

  Taylor said very quietly, “I’m scared shitless.”

  Enoch patted his hand and nodded wisely. “Look, I know you never wanted to get married again, not after Diane, and here Lindsay is probably richer than Diane was, but—”

  “I’m scared shitless about the maniac out there trying to kill her.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” Taylor sighed. “Funny thing is, I probably should be scared about remarrying, but I’m not. I love her and can see both of us together until my brain gives out into mist and my body folds up into bones. It’s strange, but there just aren’t any doubts. As for her money, we’ll deal with it.”

  “Do you think you’ll keep on with the business?”

  Taylor turned to look fully at the man who’d been his friend for six years. “Why do you ask?”

  Enoch looked embarrassed. He shrugged. “You’re rich. You don’t have to be a working stiff anymore.”

  “No, Lindsay is rich. I’m still just me. Now, don’t get me wrong. I think a man who scoffs at his wife’s money and insists she’s to live on his salary alone is an ass.”

  “That was your attitude with Diane and her money.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m trying to be mature about this, Enoch. Lindsay can do whatever she wants with the money. If she wants to make it part of the common pot, so be it. Hey, we might decide to invest in pork bellies or pinto beans. Or we’ll buy Kauai. How about a helicopter business? You got any suggestions?”

  Enoch laughed. “She’s a great woman, Taylor. She’s changed a lot since back in November. Come to think of it, you have too.”

  Taylor remembered the night she’d come back from San Francisco. He could still taste her mouth, feel her surprise when he kissed her and touched her, her passion, her urgency. He could remember the softness of her flesh, the tightness of her when he’d entered her. “Yes, she has,” he said. And he remembered just as clearly his feelings when she’d come to him. “I as well.”

  “Has Barry discovered anything at all yet?”

  “You remember the description she gave of the supposed set man?”

  “Yeah, I still can’t believe it. I’ve never known a witness that good. If he’d had a mole on his butt, she probably would have intuited it from his accent.”

  “She’d never thought it was important enough to mention to me before. She does have a photographic memory for faces. I told her we were going to bring her on in the business. Anyway, one of the old guys in homicide saw the sketch and recognized the bastard right off. His name’s Bert Oswald, a little killer for hire, been in and out of prison all his life, a loser most the time, but occasionally he gets a job done and it usually ends up getting him back into the slammer again. He comes cheap and he’s not, as I said, very reliable.”

  “Thank God he wasn’t this time.”

  The taxi pulled up at the hospital.

  Taylor said, a touch of anxiety in his voice that Enoch didn’t miss, “I look okay?”

  “You missed a spot shaving, your eyes are a bit bloodshot, you look skinny, but hey—yeah, just fine. A regular Romeo.”

  The driver turned around and gave them both a huge grin. “Hey, which one of you cuties is expecting?”

  He was still laughing when he pulled away.

  “Now, that’s better,” Enoch said, observing the wide grin on Taylor’s face.

  Gayle and Sheila were there fussing over Lindsay. She was now wearing a bit of powder and some lipstick. It looked faintly ridiculous in her current condition, and Taylor just leaned down and kissed most of it off. The minister, Reverend Battista, had known Taylor’s mom and dad and sister. He was charming, warm, and had no problem with marrying the couple in a hospital. He lived every single day deep in his faith and didn’t question life’s occasional strange byways too often. So he smiled and greeted Taylor and told him he was glad to see him after three years.

  They were in love, Reverend Battista saw, and he was pleased. He appreciated weddings, particularly when the bride wasn’t obviously pregnant. Those he always doubted would last the first round. But these two—they’d last. He watched Taylor slide the wedding band on Lindsay’s finger. They were—attached, somehow attuned to each other.

  When Reverend Battista pronounced them well and finally married, Taylor’s eyes shone. His severe look melted away. He kissed his bride. There was applause from the nurses and doctors standing in the doorway.

  “For someone five days out of surgery, you’re a charming bride,” Taylor said next to her bandaged ear. “You feel up to a drop of champagne?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s my wedding day. Dr. Shantel said half a flute.”

  His eyes darkened. And she knew he was thinking about the one night they’d had together. It seemed aeons ago now. Almost as if it had never existed. But it had, and she could still remember the faint echoes of pleasure, a pleasure so intense it was frightening, and he’d promised her that it would always be like that between them. She believed him.

  There were six bottles of Mumms champagne, enough for all the staff who were in and out of the room, Officer Fogel, and Missy Dubinsky. Barry Kinsley came round to congratulate them and tell Taylor that the little shit Oswald was still on the loose but they’d get him soon.

  Taylor looked over at his wife, who was speaking to Glen. “I’m not certain it’s safe for her to leave the hospital. Her lung machine was unhooked this morning. Dr. Perry says if she has proper rest, she can recuperate at home as well as here. But at home, I don’t know how well I can protect her.”

  “Let’s keep her here, Taylor,” Barry said. “ Easier to keep her safe.”

  “Yeah.”

  “One little glass but no more,” Dr. Shantel said, smiling down at Lindsay when Enoch tried to give her another half-glass. “Your medication is still a bit on the heavy side for too much alcohol. Congratulations, Mrs. Taylor.”

  Lindsay fell asleep just after finishing her first half-glass of champagne. Dr. Shantel smiled and
shushed everyone. “Our patient’s so happy she has to sleep it off.”

  “Well,” Barry said, gazing down at the new Mrs. Taylor. “Nothing like having your bride conk out on you before your wedding night.”

  “I figure we can make up for it in the next fifty years.”

  “Good man.”

  Sheila laughed and gave him a very interested look. “Do you like jazz, Sergeant?”

  “Well, ma’am,” Barry said, turning admiring eyes toward Sheila, who was wearing a long emerald silk dress, “I like to think I play a mean trumpet. Yeah, jazz is something else. Right now I’m listening every night to Harry Dellios. He’s out of—”

  “Atlanta! My, my, isn’t that a wonderful coincidence, Enoch?”

  Enoch groaned. “That’s my cousin, Sergeant. But beware, if you spend a lot of time with my mom here, you’ll get as skinny as I am.”

  “Might not be a bad idea,” Barry said, looking down at his belly. He turned to Taylor, who was leaning over his wife, just looking at her. “I need to speak to you some more when all the fun’s over.”

  It was over in fifteen minutes. Barry Kinsley asked Gayle Werth to accompany him and Taylor to the waiting room.

  He said without preamble, “Taylor told me about this guy Dr. Gruska, a professor who kept trying to track Lindsay down.”

  “Gayle, do you think he could be crazy enough to turn on Lindsay?” Taylor asked.

  Gayle took a turn about the small waiting room, thinking hard. When she turned, she nodded. “Yes. He’s a nut case. According to Lindsay, he’s deep into repressed childhood sexuality, you know, all that Freud stuff.”

  “I agree,” Taylor said. “At least it’s worth a shot. I’ve tried to track him down. He’ll be on campus tomorrow, I was told. I’ll talk to him.”

  “I’d like to come along,” Barry said. “No, don’t look at me like I’m spoiling your fun, boyo. I just don’t want you to rumple his tie if he starts foaming at the mouth and admitting everything.”