“Sir,” Mrs. Hoffman said, “I can assure you that we are fully in control of this house.”
“That’s not the assurance I was looking for, Mrs. Hoffman. Your little games are over, are they not?”
“Our little games, as you call them, saved this house, and you.” Mrs. Hoffman’s voice was quiet and severe.
David looked over at Variola. He seemed to think he couldn’t reason with Mrs. Hoffman, so he turned elsewhere. “Are they over, Variola? Tell me the truth.”
The chef smiled. “If you want them to be over, sir, then they are.” She sensed Mrs. Hoffman stiffening beside her.
“Not only do I want them over,” David replied, “but I will make sure they are over.”
“You need not worry, sir,” Variola told him.
He grimaced. “What does Rita know?”
“Rita?” Mrs. Hoffman practically spit her name. “The little twit. She knows nothing. You need not worry about her.”
“Are you certain about that?”
“Yes,” Variola assured him. “She knows nothing more than rumors and gossip, like everyone else.”
“Well,” David said, “she brought my wife to a room upstairs tonight, claiming to have seen some unfamiliar woman come in through the back door and enter that room.”
Variola felt the anger rise from her gut, and looked sharply over at Mrs. Hoffman. “I don’t like the idea of strange people coming and going through my kitchen. Do you know anything about a woman coming in here tonight?”
“Of course I don’t,” she said, but Variola didn’t believe her. She had threatened to continue doing things her way, and that was apparently the case. Variola steamed.
“I won’t have what went on here before starting up again,” David said.
Variola watched as Mrs. Hoffman’s back arched and her chin lifted in defiance. She took several steps toward David.
“You think you have any authority here,” the housekeeper said, her voice burning with anger and resentment. “You think you can tell me what to do.”
Variola saw the life drain from David’s eyes. She had seen this once before, in the aftermath of the accident, when his wife’s body lay here, on the kitchen counter, dripping with seaweed, cold and blue. Mrs. Hoffman had spoken to him in the same way then as she spoke to him now, and Variola realized that all of her lessons of the fine arts of the islands had created a monster. She pulled back now, slightly afraid, and fear was not an emotion Variola was familiar with, or comfortable with.
Mrs. Hoffman stood in front of David with those hard, cold eyes of hers. “Rita is a lunatic,” she said. “And we all know why that is.”
He looked away. “My fault.”
“Yes, your fault,” Mrs. Hoffman agreed.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said, in a small voice.
“The only reason Rita thinks she can get away with whatever she wants to do is because you have given her delusions of her own power.”
David ran a hand through his hair. His anger from earlier had been replaced by anguish. His eyes were locked on to Mrs. Hoffman’s. He was a little boy, frightened of the schoolmarm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hoffman. Believe me, I am. I take full responsibility. I was weak . . .”
“Yes, weak! That’s what you were. Weak and cruel. And you hurt her. Hurt her terribly.”
Variola realized she wasn’t talking about Rita.
“How she loved you,” Mrs. Hoffman said, drawing closer to David, her voice dropping into a hushed, angry whisper. “Do you remember when her body lay here, dripping and cold? That was your fault, too!”
David was crying.
“How devoted she was to you. It was only because of her pain and her sense of betrayal that we started what you so condescendingly call our ‘little games.’ ”
Variola was astounded at how quickly he had been overcome by Hoffman. He hadn’t even put up a fight. She felt pity for the man, tinged with contempt.
“She would still be here, with us,” Hoffman was saying, “the mistress of this house—”
“But Liz is the mistress of the house,” David said quietly, unconvincingly.
“That’s not so! There will always be only one mistress here, and you know it!”
David shuddered. He had come into this room so full of authority. Now he was small and shriveled.
“You remember her as she was, don’t you, David?” Mrs. Hoffman was saying, drawing even closer to him, speaking almost directly in his ear. “How beautiful she was . . .”
“So . . . beautiful . . .” David murmured.
“We were so happy together.”
“So . . . happy . . .”
“And how you loved her.”
“How I loved her,” David repeated.
“Until Rita came along.”
All at once, David’s eyes clouded over with bitterness.
“And now,” Mrs. Hoffman hissed, “another woman sleeps in her place.”
David’s face twisted in anger.
Mrs. Hoffman pulled back, her voice becoming subordinate again. “Forgive me, sir, if I have been out of line in speaking so plainly,” she said. “But I think you know everything I say is true.”
“True,” he repeated, almost incoherently.
Mrs. Hoffman smiled.
“I . . . I need to go outside . . .” David was mumbling, trembling hands running through his hair. “I need to walk . . . think . . .”
“Of course you do, sir,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “The night air will do you a tremendous amount of good.”
He said nothing more, just stumbled out the back door.
Variola looked over at Mrs. Hoffman. “That was audacious,” she said.
The housekeeper sniffed in derision. “I can’t stand it when he starts trying to act like he’s in charge around here.”
“But he’s right,” Variola told her. “This can’t go on.”
“It goes on until we are done. Until we are successful.”
“We have tried. It is not possible. When will you accept that?”
“How dare you give up?”
Variola frowned. “I have enough blood on my hands.”
“You took an oath.”
“To someone who is no longer here.”
Mrs. Hoffman bristled. “How dare you give up on her?” she repeated, more forcefully.
Variola folded her arms over her chest. “He is right. The games, as he calls them, must end. Too much blood has been shed.” She narrowed her eyes at Hoffman. “Who was the woman who came into the house tonight? How did she get here? What has happened to her?”
Mrs. Hoffman ignored her questions. “If and when our games are to end, I will give that command. You will not tell me.”
“I took no oath to you.”
“I speak with her authority.”
“Ah, but you haven’t been listening to me, have you, Hoffman? The rules are changing. She doesn’t have authority anymore.” Variola smiled. “I do.”
“Don’t you dare to presume supremacy here.”
“It is you who should not dare.” Variola lifted her chin as high as Mrs. Hoffman’s. “Remember who I am. Why you brought me into your games. Do you really want to go head-to-head with me? Are you really that confident of your abilities, Hoffman?”
The other woman backed off, but just a little bit. “I’m confident of hers, and she won’t stand for insubordination.”
That only made Variola burst out laughing. The sound of chimes echoed through the room. When she caught her breath, Variola started to reply, to say something in response to Mrs. Hoffman’s threat, but then she decided against it. Her laughter was all the response that was necessary. So she laughed again, and kept laughing as she climbed the stairs to her room. Mrs. Hoffman stood staring after her, her fists clenched at her sides.
45
Rita paid the bartender for her beer. “Thanks,” she said. “I should be getting home.”
“They ever find out who killed that kid?” the bartender asked as Rita slid off
her stool.
“Which one?”
“The boy you were here with a while back.”
“Nope.” She felt a little woozy from the beer. She shouldn’t have had two. She should have just had a glass of wine. “But I expect they will soon.”
Tomorrow morning, after she had told sweet little Liz all about the affair she’d had with David, Rita planned to go down to the police station and reveal everything that Jamison had told her to Detective Foley. Then she would sit back and watch the show.
She couldn’t wait.
Rita stepped outside of Mickey’s Bar into the cool night air. The sky was a dome of stars, little pinpoints of light in a vault of endless midnight blue. A light breeze rustled the fronds of the palm trees overhead. The beer sat uneasily in Rita’s stomach, making her a little nauseous. Once again she wished she’d just had a glass of white wine.
She was parked out in back of Mickey’s, near the Dumpster. When she’d gotten here, the lot had been packed; it was the only spot she could find. She walked through the parking lot, her feet crunching the gravel, her head starting to pound. She was feeling low as well as sickly. What was she about to do? Did she really want to do it?
She loved David, after all. Did she really want to destroy his life?
But how vicious he’d been to her. How cruel. His words still sounded in her ears.
I don’t love you! I never loved you! I used you, Rita! I was an unhappily married man and I used you! Get that through your head!
She covered her ears with her hands, as if to block out the memory.
But maybe she could still win him back . . . maybe...
No, she told herself. It’s over.
All that was left for her was revenge.
But did she really want that? Was she really as bitter as all that?
She reached her car. She opened her purse, searching for the fob to unlock the door.
Behind her, she heard the crunch of gravel.
She turned, not in any way alarmed, just indifferently curious, and what she saw was a figure in the darkness, moving quickly toward her.
Rita never had time to be afraid.
She barely had time for pain.
The sound of the blade through the air was immediately followed by a cold, burning sensation against her belly, and in the last seconds of consciousness, she caught a glimpse of red blood and amber beer exploding onto the side of her car.
The blade came swinging at her throat, and everything went dark for Rita.
She had never even screamed.
46
Liz woke with a start. Glowing green through the darkness, the clock read 3:15.
All at once, she felt cold and realized David wasn’t in the bed beside her. She’d fallen asleep waiting for him to come upstairs, but apparently that had never happened. Liz sat up and switched on the light.
She gasped. David was sitting in a chair across the room, wrapped in a bathrobe, just staring straight ahead at her.
“David?” Liz asked. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he replied in a soft voice.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I have to leave in the morning.”
“What do you mean?” Liz swung her legs out of bed and placed her feet against the floor. “David, you can’t be serious!”
He stared over at her with dead eyes. His voice was monotone. “Delacorte sent me an email he just received. A Dutch company is going to launch a takeover bid of our entire European holdings.”
“You just got back from Europe,” Liz said feebly.
His expression didn’t change. “I thought I’d put the problems to rest. Apparently I didn’t.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’m not sure.”
David didn’t smile, didn’t apologize, didn’t show any sign of any emotion. If he was upset that he had to leave, he didn’t express it. If he was glad, he didn’t express that either.
“Are you telling me the whole story?” Liz asked. “Is there something else wrong?”
“Nothing else is wrong.” He continued staring at her, which made Liz supremely uncomfortable. “But I have to save the company. Or else my father will blame me.”
“Oh, David,” she said in a low voice, lying back down and pulling her legs up to her chest.
He continued to sit there.
“At least come back to bed for a couple of hours?” Liz asked.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep. A car is picking me up at five o’clock. I’ll be meeting Dad’s private jet at the airport at six.” He stood. “I should get ready.”
Liz heard him walk across the room and step into the bathroom. The door closed behind him. The water in the sink went on. The shower stayed off, however. It had appeared to Liz that David, wrapped in that bathrobe, had already showered. His hair seemed wet and he was barefoot.
Why was he so unapologetic? Why did he seem so utterly resigned to going? After everything Liz had said to him last time, she would have thought he’d at least express some regret about having to leave for Europe again. What the hell was going on with him?
She sat up when he came out of the bathroom and started to get dressed.
“David, please tell me if something else is going on.”
“I’ve just got to go,” he said, knotting his tie.
Liz got out of bed. “Did something happen? Please tell me.”
He moved those blank eyes over to her again. “What happened was a Dutch company initiated proceedings to take over our holdings.”
“Fine,” Liz said. “I guess this is what our marriage will be. You taking off unexpectedly and going away for who knows how long.”
“I’m sorry, Liz.”
Finally an apology. She looked over at him.
But he kept his eyes averted. He slipped on his jacket and grabbed a small suitcase.
“I’ll call you,” he said, brushing his lips against her hair.
She said nothing. She just stood facing away from him, her arms wrapped around herself, listening as he opened the door and walked out. She listened to his footsteps down the hall until they faded away.
47
“The body’s over here, Detective,” the cop called to Foley, who was just getting out of his car in front of Mickey’s Bar, a cup of coffee in his hands.
“What a way to start our day, huh?” Foley asked Aggie, who was getting out of the passenger side of the car. “How many murders are we supposed to juggle at once?”
“I’m beginning to feel like Benson and Stabler,” she quipped.
They crunched across the gravel parking lot. Out in back of the bar, near a Dumpster, an area had been cordoned off with yellow police tape. Half a dozen officers in blue uniforms were milling about. One of them was motioning to Foley.
“The victim’s a Latina female, sliced up pretty good at the throat and the stomach,” the cop, a tall black man, was saying. “The guy who came to get the trash this morning found her. Looks like she was killed sometime last night.”
“And nobody found her until this morning?” Aggie asked.
The cop shrugged. “Parked way back here, I guess nobody noticed.”
“That her car?” Foley asked, nodding at the silver Toyota Corolla with blood splattered along its driver’s side door.
“Appears to be. She’s got a key fob in her hand.”
Foley bent down at looked at the dead woman on the ground. She was lying on her side. Her pretty face was pressed down into the gravel. Her eyes were still open.
Her eyes . . .
“Joe,” Aggie said, bending down next to him. “I know her . . .”
“Yeah,” Foley said. “Yeah, we both do. We interviewed her. About the murder of Jamison Wilkes.”
“Right. She said she knew nothing about it.”
“Excuse me, detectives.”
It was the cop who’d been speaking with them. Joe and Aggie stood.
“This is the bartender from Mickey’s. He tal
ked to the young lady last night in the bar.”
“What’s your name?” Joe asked the man, a short balding redhead.
“Kenny Cooper. We spoke after the Wilkes kid’s killing.”
“Right. Did you know this victim?”
He shook his head. “Not really. Just to say hello to when she came in for a drink.”
“Did she come in often?” Aggie asked.
“Not really. Maybe two or three times a month.”
“So you didn’t know anything about her?” Joe asked.
“Just that she worked up at Huntington House.”
“What did she say last night?”
“Not much. She seemed to be stewing about something, just sitting there by herself. She had two beers. It wasn’t until she was leaving that she said anything to me at all.”
“What did she say?”
“I asked her if they’d ever found out who’d killed Wilkes. And she said maybe they would soon.”
“That a direct quote?”
“As near as I can remember.”
Joe looked over at Aggie.
“Guess we’re going to have take a ride back over to Huntington House today,” he said.
She nodded. “Guess we are.”
48
Liz stood at the window of her bedroom, looking down onto the grounds. She hadn’t been downstairs yet. For some reason, she just couldn’t make herself do it. She felt as if she’d gone back in time, and she was back in those terrible first few days after she’d come to this house, missing David terribly, feeling so all alone, hiding out in her room.
“Mrs. Huntington?”
She turned. It was Mrs. Hoffman at the door.
“I’m sorry to intrude, but you haven’t answered the phone.”
“No, I haven’t. That’s because I don’t wish to be disturbed, Mrs. Hoffman.”
The housekeeper regarded her indifferently. “Normally I would respect that. But Detective Foley is downstairs, and he insists he has to see you.”
Liz felt cold terror race down her arms and into her fingertips.
“He first asked for Mr. Huntington, and I told him he’d left for Europe just a few hours ago. Then he said he had to speak with you.”
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