A Ruling Passion

by Judith Michael

  "Waiting for us," Nick said. "A house waiting for us, a life waiting for us..." They kissed again, but only briefly, because he had reminded them that something else waited for them first. "Let's get this over with." Valerie sat back, and he started the car, and drove to Mor-gen Farms.

  "Mrs. Enderby is working," the buder said. 'Tou could wait in the garden room, but it might be hours. I suggest you make an appointment for another time."

  Nick wrote a few words on a business card. "I think she should see this. We'll wait here."

  The buder hesitated, then took the card and left.

  Less than a minute later, Sybille appeared in the entrance hall. "How astonishing," she said, her voice flat. Her pale-blue eyes took in both of them with no expression. "Now, where shall we go to talk? Valerie, you choose. You know your way around."

  "If s your house," Valerie said clearly. "We'll go wherever you like."

  Checked, Sybille turned and walked away without looking back. Nick and Valerie followed, down the hallway to the library, shadowed behind drawn drapes, air-conditioned to frigidity. Sybille sat in a dark wing-backed chair beside a Chinese screen. She wore dark linen pants and a white blouse and looked to Valerie like a black-and-white photograph, frozen in time.

  Nick sat on a velvet loveseat. Valerie had been about to join him, but thought better of it, and sat across from him, on a matching sofa. A low coffee table was between them, and Sybille's chair was at the end of it. It struck Valerie that they had been in this position before, a long time ago, at a Chinese restaurant in Palo Alto. They had toasted each other; something about where they would be in ten years. But we never could have imagined this, Valerie thought. The three of us—strangers, lovers, friends, enemies. And from it, Nick and I will build a life.

  The butler appeared in the doorway. "Would Madam care for refreshments?"

  "No." Sybille kept her eyes on Nick, as if the two of them were alone, and waited.

  "We went to see Bob Targus this afternoon," Nick said, "to ask him—"

  "That's a lie," Sybille snapped. "He's moved."

  "Not yet. He was packing. We went to ask him if he knew anything about the crash of Carlton Sterling's plane."

  There was a brief pause. "Of course he doesn't. Why would he?"

  "Because he was there. And he told us what he did to the plane before flying you back to Washington."

  "Is this a game?" Sybille demanded. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Targus was an unreliable employee, dishonest and untrustworthy. He made up stories that no one believed. If he told you he did something up there, you'd be a fool to believe him. Anyway, that crash was a year and a half ago; it was investigated and it's done with. If thafs all you came to tell me, I have work to do."

  "Targus was your pilot for a long time; I'd think you would have gotten rid of him if he was unreliable. We came to tell you that he confessed to putting water in the tanks of Carlton's plane. He said you wanted to delay Carlton; not kill him, but prevent him from returning to Washington right away. Targus said you ordered him to make sure the plane would require maintenance that would take at least a few hours. It was Targus who thought of putting water in the tanks. And of course Carlton was killed."

  "You son of a bitch, you're saying I killed him." Sybille's voice was so cold and flat it was almost mechanical. "You're saying I ordered Targus to—whatever he did—so I'm the one who's guilty. Is that what you're saying? You're accusing me of killing a stupid ass who didn't know enough to check his plane before he took off. You're crazy. Whatever that liar said, I had nothing to do with Carl's plane. Why would I? I didn't give a damn what he did."

  "You were having an affair with him," Valerie said quiedy.

  "Not much of one," Sybille said with contempt, looking around the room without meeting Valerie's eyes. "He was stupid and dull and lousy in bed. You have low standards, Valerie; you'll setde"—she shot a quick glance at Nick—"for anything."

  Nick and Valerie gazed at her in silence. She stared back at Nick.

  "It was a long time ago, and I barely knew him. I didn't care what he did or when he did it; I just wanted him out of my way."

  Nick nodded. "That's what Bob Targus said."

  Her mouth drew tight. "You can't intimidate me, Nick; I know you too well." She was sitting stiffly, her face a mask. 'Tou want to destroy me. You can't stand it that Chad likes me better than you; you've been trying to keep us apart ever since he was born. And now you want to ruin me, just because I'm successful. You're trying to ruin Graceville. You sent this woman to ask my board members questions she had no right to ask, trying to make them turn their backs on me. But you're crazy if you think they would; they admire me and respect me, and they need me. You won't get anywhere with this; I'm stronger than you. Whatever you try to do to me, you'll fail because I'm too strong, I've been through too much. I'm invulnerable."

  Nick leaned forward. "Sybille, listen to me. We should have gone to the police with Targus's statement, but we couldn't do it, not yet. We have to think of Chad; we want to protect him as much as possible and we have to think of how to tell him about everything that's happened. And maybe we've got it wrong; maybe Targus wasn't telling the truth. If you've got another explanation, we want to hear it. And about the money Carlton gave you. We found out about that—"

  "Who's this we?^^ Sybille demanded, looking straight at Nick. "I'm talking to you, I'll hsten to you, but I'm not talking to any we. If you keep talking about we, you'll have to get out."

  "You'll have to listen, whatever words I use. I'm not doing this alone. Valerie and I have been researching Grace ville together, you know about that, and I'm helping her find what she can about her husband's death. We thought we had two separate questions to answer—about Carlton's plane, and about the finances of the Hour of Grace Foundation—but the two of them came together, and now it looks like one question. We came here to give you a chance to tell us our answers are wrong. We have information about the sums of money that are being taken from the Foundation; we have—"

  'Tou have nothing!" she snapped mechanically. 'Tou talk about police—to me! to your wife! You talk about going to the police! With what, for Christ's sake? A few rumors and innuendoes you scraped up that sound like those asses, the Bakkers, and you think you'll get a free ride—oh, you'd be a big man, wouldn't you, by screwing me. I was your wife! I'm the mother of your son! But you'd sacrifice me to get an audience that always wants more dirt! You bastard, you'd do anything—"

  "We're not doing it, Sybille," Valerie said evenly. She was trying not to shiver in the icy room. Her bare arms and legs were covered with

  tiny bumps, but she would not rub them, she would not give any sign to Sybille that she was freezing. "The information will get out—it can't be a secret anymore—but we won't be the ones to put it on television. You must know, though, that someone else wiU."

  Sybille was looking fixedly at Nick. The planes of her face were sharp beneath her taut skin, dark with anger. "No one will." She clipped her words to keep her voice under control. "Who does she think she is, acting noble, not being the one to tell lies about me on television? She isn't noble; she doesn't have anything! You don't know anything about me. Carl drove me crazy, begging me to take his money, begging me to marry him and get him loose from that scatterbrained bitch he was married to, but I couldn't stand him. He bored the hell out of me. You're a fool, Nick, getting mixed up with her; she ruins every man she touches."

  Valerie stood up, angry, ice cold, wanting only to be away from there, outside, in the hot sun. For awhile Nick's presence had kept her quiet, but now even that was not enough. 'Tou killed him. You took his money, our money, and killed him so you could keep it. There's never enough for you, Sybille, there's never been enough, and you'll do anything to get more. It wasn't enough that you killed Carl; you're robbing the people who send money to Lily. You've manipulated her, you've used her goodness and her innocence, because you could count on them. You knew she loved you; you knew she wouldn't
listen to anyone who said anything against you. Even now she can't bring her-seljf to believe what Bob Targus said—"

  ^'Whdt are you talking about? She doesn't know anything about it! She called me; she always calls me and tells me where she is. She's sick; she's staying with a friend—"

  "She's staying with me. She was with us this afternoon when we talked to—"

  ^^Thafs a lie!" Sybille leaped out of the chair and darted to the other end of the room, away from Valerie. "She'd never go to you; I know damn well she wouldn't! You're trying to hurt me. That's all you've ever done, tried to make me feel I was nothing compared to you. You think you can be like me and take everything I have! I saw you, at Nick's house, sucking up to Chad; you want my son, you want my husband, you want Lily! You can't stand it that I'm better than you; you want me poor and helpless, the way I was when we met.. .goddam it, come back here! Tou^re not walking out on me!"

  Valerie was at the door. She was shaking from the horrors of Sy-bille's sick rage, the venom stored up and nurtured all these years. She felt the grip of Sybille's poison like a thick-stemmed deadly plant

  wrapping itself around her, blotting out the beauty of life: Nick and Chad and work and friends. I won^t let her. She's not going to destroy what is wonderful in the worlds and drag m down with her legacy of anger and death.

  "I'll tell you this now because I hope I never see you again," she said, her voice tight with the effort to keep from trembling. "A long time ago, I thought we might be friends. That was all I ever wanted from you. You've never believed that, but it's true. Nick and Chad and Lily are part of my life because we love each other, not because of some conspiracy to hurt you; we don't even think of you when we're together, though I know that's hard for you to believe. I'm sure you'd rather think we're always conscious of you, whatever we're doing. If you'd ever learned to care about one other human being, Sybille, you wouldn't be living here alone in this damned refrigerator, and Graceville wouldn't be collapsing around you. You don't know the meaning of love or friendship or even affection; you don't know what honesty is, or decency; you're incapable of telling the truth; you use people and then throw them away; you murdered my husband, and for all I care you can go to hell."

  She opened the door. "I'll wait for you outside," she said to Nick, and was gone.

  Sybille opened her mouth, but no sound came. She leaned against a chair, gasping. She was dizzy and something was wrong with her eyes; the room looked blurred and wavering, as if seen through water. She gripped the edge of the chair to keep from falling. / can't stand it. Everyone's against me. I need protection!

  Nick was standing, and she squinted, trying to bring him into focus. "You're running away, too? These insane accusations... you said you'd listen to my side... and then you run away."

  "You haven't told me your side," he said.

  "Why should I? I don't owe you anything. I gave you the best I had and it wasn't good enough; you left me for her, anyway. I don't have to talk to you; you'll just use it against me. You're desperate, I can tell; you dug and dug and still don't have your precious show. You don't know what our finances are, and you never will! You have some bullshit from a pilot we fired for lying, but that doesn't have a thing to do with Graceville. Water in the tanks!'" she cried in mincing tones. "Who the hell knows what that is, and who cares? People care about sex and money, and that's what you dug for in Graceville. But you didn't find any, did you? You didn't find anything that connects to anything else. Tou're nowhere. Why don't you just drop it? And drop that bitch, too. You and I could still get together, you know. This time

  we'd be working together, too. I'd make you a board member of the Foundation, and we could run Lily's sermons on your network, two or three a week if you want; you have no idea how lucrative they are. And you could—we could take care of each other. Chad would like it, you know he would. It's so simple; it's always been simple; we just took a few detours, thafs all. Nick, listen to me!"

  "Valerie told you we're not going to do the story." Nick's voice was slow and heavy with sadness, for Chad, and also for Sybille. "But that doesn't mean we haven't learned a lot that we have to pass on to others. And it does connect; it all connects through Carlton. He invested thirteen million dollars in Graceville while he was having an affair with you. I suppose that qualifies as the sex part; the whole story reeks of money. You've been skimming huge amounts from all the fimds involved with Graceville—money for the land purchase, construction costs, donations, memberships—"

  "You don't know that!"

  "—over forty percent of it goes to you and your partners. Carlton was rushing back to be at the closing on the land purchase—perhaps to stop it; we can't know for sure—when his plane crashed, after it had been tampered with on your orders. Those are the connections we've made."

  "Rumors! Lies! You've got no proof!"

  "We've had an accountant go over your books. I imagine—"

  "You're lying. There's no way —"

  "We did it, Sybille. I imagine you'll be hearing fi-om the IRS one of these days. And Bob Targus is coming to Valerie's tonight to tape his statement for us. If you have anything to say—if people have lied to us and we don't know it—tell me. Don't just accuse Bob of being a liar; tell me how all these things happened. You've got to defend yourself, or help with the investigation; otherwise, no one can help you."

  "You son of a bitch. You want to force me to crawl. I'd rather lose everything I have."

  Nick gazed at her. She was like a dark statue, the only sign of life her pale-blue eyes blazing in the shadows. "You may," he said. He suddenly was aware of how cold he was. He had turned down his shirtsleeves sometime back, but it was not enough. "If you change your mind, you can call me. I'll be at Valerie's, or at home."

  "Get out of here!" She watched him leave, closing the door behind him. She stood where she was, leaning against the chair, breathing harshly.

  Fll be at Valerie's, or at home.

  She picked up a marble bookend and hurled it the length of the room. It crashed into the glass doors of her gun cabinet, flinging shards of glass over the dark carpet. They gleamed dully in the dim light that filtered through the closed drapes. When the sound died away, the room was silent except for the faint hissing of cold air, and Sybille's rasping breath.

  No one came. They had been told too often to leave her alone. It had always been enough for her to know there were others in the house; she did not want them too close. She stood still until her breathing slowed. Sometime later the buder asked if she would be dining at home. "No," Sybille said. He cast a quick glance at the gun cabinet, adjusted one of the draperies that was letting in a sliver of sunlight, and left the room. Still, she did not move.

  Nick was lying when he said there'd be no story on television. She knew he was. He was lying about the accountant too; no stranger could get past the security guard. She hadn't known Nick was such a liar. But no matter how flimsy or wrong his information was, he'd make some kind of show with it. That's what Sybille had always done; that's what anybody would do. She couldn't stop that; she'd just have to wait it out, and fight whatever they put on.

  Lies and guesswork. The Foundation could survive those. They'd have to make some changes, though. Lars Olssen would have to become president; they needed his absolute purity to get through this. Floyd would go quiedy; he always did what she told him. The buder said he'd called that morning, while she was working; she'd call him back tomorrow and tell him he'd have to resign as president.

  But the Foundation isn't the real danger.

  Slowly, she slid down until she was sitting on the floor, leaning forward, her arms folded tight against her breasts. She knew what the real danger was.

  Bob Targus. She'd kept him on her payroll for years, given him bonuses, trusted him with some sensitive jobs... and now that weak-willed, disloyal son of a bitch was the real danger. All this time he'd kept his mouth shut, and then, out of the blue, to tell someone...

  She had to stop him, prevent hi
m from taping it. If there was no proof, if it was only his word against hers—a nothing pilot versus Sybille Enderby—who'd believe him? He'd be dead in the water.

  Dead.

  Of course. What else could she do? How else could she be sure he

  wouldn't find someone else to blab to? She couldn't stop Nick from doing whatever he wanted about Graceville, but she could stop Targus from talking.

  She stood stiffly and went to the gun cabinet, stepping between the shards of glass. She opened the shattered door, and took out a rifle. She had not done any skeet shooting or hunting in some time, but she was not worried: she never missed. I've missed hunting, though, she thought, enjoying her own joke. It's about time I got back to it.

  Bob Tarfius is comin0 to Valerie's tonight to tape his statement for us. How stupid of Nick to tell her that; you'd think he would have known her better. They'd been married, after all; lived together, raised a son together... Didn't he ever learn?

  I learn, Sybille thought. That's how I survive.

  She took a handfril of bullets, and left the house through the door to the garage. She chose the nearest car: sleek and fast, a Testarossa, one of her first purchases with her new wealth from the Foundation. But as she backed out of the garage, she realized she had no idea where Valerie lived. That son of a bitch, she filmed; why didn't he give me her address, while he was at it? Leaving the gun in the car, she went back to the library and looked for Valerie's name in the telephone directory.

  She found the name and address. Falls Church, she thought; fancy place for somebody who'd supposedly lost all her money. She probably had some hidden and never told Carl about it; God, what a dishonest bitch. Then she went back to the car, and drove to Falls Church.

  The traffic was heavy as she came closer to the Washington orbit, and she dodged cars and pedestrians, feeling a sudden urgency. Tardus is comin0 toni£fht. What did tonight mean? It was eight-thirty; the sun was down, but the heat clung, rising in waves from the pavement and blown by a hot steady wind. When did it stop being evening and start to be night? Eight o'clock? Nine? Ten? Midnight? She raced to the address, and then slowed as she saw it ahead: a small house surrounded by empty lots. Across the street was a park thick with sumac and horsechestnut trees. Sybille felt a thrill of satisfaction when she saw it. Made to order.