Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die

by Nancy Martin

  I air-kissed my way through the crowd, happier to see everyone than I imagined I could be.

  I met Delilah Fairweather in the foyer where she was—of course—shouting over the music into her cell phone while plugging her other ear with a long, enameled forefinger. Her braids danced from the topknot on her head.

  “Gotta go,” she said to her caller when she laid eyes on me. She snapped the phone shut. “Girlfriend! You know the most exciting people! Did you know there’s a country singer here and a former governor and that doctor who does all the transplants, and just a minute ago I met the girl who’s going to Broadway next month, and I think she’s gonna sing racy songs later. All we need is the Mafia Prince to finish spicing things up, and you’re got everything covered! Give me a kiss!”

  I did and wrapped my arms around her, too. “Delilah, thanks so very much. If it weren’t for the information you gave me—”

  “You caught Kitty’s killer? I mean, the person who hired the hit man?”

  “Yes,” I said. “The police are working out charges now.”

  “Will Brinker go to jail?”

  “Probably on the arson charge. Sabria says he hired Danny to torch the comedy club, which is how Brinker hooked her up with Danny to kill Kitty. She’s the one who officially hired Kitty’s killer. And it’s all on videotape that Brinker filmed himself.”

  “Kinky. But, damn,” said Delilah. “I want one of those Brinker Bras real bad. I wonder if the company will implode before anybody gets to buy the bras in stores?”

  “It’s very possible.”

  Delilah’s expression softened. “You deserve a vacation, Nora. How about going to my condo in Puerto Rico for a few days? Take a friend. Enjoy some fresh sea air and some hot nights.”

  “You’re too generous. I’d take you up on that offer, but I’ve got a shot at a job and I need to focus on that for a while.”

  “You do what needs doing,” she said. “Who’s Mr. Good-looking in the library? Honey, the Mafia Prince had better be more delicious than Denzel if you’re choosing him over this guy.” She hooked her thumb in the direction of Richard D’eath.

  Her phone rang and I left her to talk with her caller.

  In the doorway, I hesitated. The party music was behind me. The library seemed very quiet.

  Richard turned from studying the books on my shelves. He had a glass of something in one hand, but he’d left his cane leaning against the leather sofa. Even from across the room, I saw the wash of relief cross his face.

  He said, “You’re safe.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you got the story.”

  I smiled wryly and went into the room. “Not exactly.”

  “Let me guess. You didn’t write it up?”

  “It wasn’t my beat,” I said. “That’s the right word, right? My ‘beat’?”

  He didn’t venture across the floor without his cane, but waited for me to arrive in front of him. He wore a worn button-down shirt that looked soft to the touch. But I kept my hands to myself. He didn’t answer me.

  I said, “Did you get your story written, too?”

  “Not yet,” he allowed. He put down his drink. “I need time to untangle the information. I’m sorry I couldn’t find Brinker last night. I heard you did.”

  “Yes.”

  “You do good work when you put your mind to it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But if you need some help improving your journalism skills,” he said, “I could be available.”

  We smiled at each other, not like colleagues, but something closer. He smelled delicious, but the music that wafted into the library wasn’t potent enough to change how I felt. Nature just didn’t tug me in Richard’s direction. And no amount of Cole Porter was going to change that.

  I felt my smile turn regretful and mustered some good humor. “What are you reading?”

  We looked at the book he held in his hand.

  “You are the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” he said. He opened the book to reveal a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill between the front cover and the first page. “You keep all your folding money in books?”

  “Where did that come from?”

  He pulled down another volume to demonstrate. “Haven’t you heard of banks?”

  I opened a copy of Robert Penn Warren’s poems. Another hundred-dollar bill lay within the pages. “What in the world?

  “You didn’t put the cash here?”

  “No, I . . . It must be Lexie!”

  “There’s money in just about all these books—maybe thousands of dollars. Who did this?”

  “My friend. She kept pushing me to have this party, and I didn’t . . .” My voice trembled. “I should have known she had a plan up her sleeve. She organized this whole thing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I closed the book of poetry and kept my head down so that Richard couldn’t see my expression. “I did it once for a friend, too. It’s a foolproof way of helping out someone who needs money. Lexie knows I could never take cash as a gift. So she planned all this to help me.”

  “Nice friend.”

  “All my friends.”

  “Hey,” Richard said. He put the book back on the shelf, then came close and pulled me gently against his body. He said, “Don’t cry. They’re good friends who obviously care about you.”

  “I can never repay them.”

  “So don’t. You’ve obviously given them something equally valuable. Use it in good conscience.”

  Richard’s shirt was very soft after all. But beneath it, his chest was solid and warm.

  He said, “Listen, I don’t know what’s happening.”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s happening.”

  He laughed softly. “You have to feel it, Nora. You’ve been mixed up with this other guy for a while because you’re hooked on the danger. I know all about that adrenaline rush. But maybe now you’re ready to move on, to be with somebody who’s a better fit.”

  I released a shaky sigh. “How did my life get so messy?”

  I felt his hand in my hair. “It doesn’t have to be messy.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s already . . .” I took a deep breath. “I could be in some trouble right now.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “The old-fashioned kind,” I said miserably.

  He pulled back and looked down at me with concern. “You’re carrying his child?”

  I wasn’t sure. There was no physical evidence yet, but my life was a roller coaster with more loops and plunges than the Coney Island Cyclone. And I definitely felt I was poised at the top of a very long, bumpy ride. The sensation of teetering high above an abyss was suddenly so real that I closed my eyes.

  I didn’t have a chance to answer Richard.

  We were interrupted by Orlando, who came into the room with a silver tray of crackers sprayed with an aerosol, cheese-colored substance festively sprinkled with parsley. But Orlando’s face didn’t look very festive anymore.

  Low-voiced, he said, “My guardians are here.”

  I left Richard and went to the boy.

  “Oh, Orlando.”

  He allowed me to take away the tray and hug him. He said, “I’m going back to New Zealand. They’re waiting for me outside.”

  “Would you like me to come outside with you?”

  He nodded, unable to say more. We left the library through the servants’ hall and ended up in the kitchen without seeing many of the other guests. Rawlins was waiting with Orlando’s backpack. “Hey, nerd,” he said. “Keep in touch, okay?”

  Orlando gave Rawlins a closed-fisted double bump that passed for a handshake. As they said their good-byes, Spike appeared at our feet. When I accompanied Orlando onto the back porch, Spike bounded anxiously at our ankles.

  Orlando kept his head down. “Thanks,” he said to me.

  “Thank you, Orlando,” I said. “You were so brave. You saved the day. You saved the party. You saved me. I’m so glad I got to know y
ou better.”

  I wanted to be the one to break the news to Orlando about his uncle Hemmings, but at that moment I saw a familiar figure come out of the darkness. She had a pretty smile and red hair.

  “Minky,” I said with a wave of relief as I recognized Orlando’s former nanny. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you!”

  Minky gave the boy a fierce hug, and he buried his face against her jacket. She held him fast. “It’s going to be okay, Orlando,” she said. “I’ve got a house for us in New Zealand. It has trees to climb and places to go fishing. We’re going to have a good time. Gallagher’s going to visit. It’s going to be great.”

  “Can you stay, Minky?” I asked. “We’re having a party.”

  “We have a plane to catch,” she said, communicating to me with her steady gaze that she wanted to whisk Orlando away as quickly as possible. “Or I’d stay for hours and get caught up. But we must hurry. Orlando, are you ready to go?”

  Spike jumped up against Orlando’s knee and barked.

  Determinedly, Orlando ignored the dog. He shook my hand instead and said, “Good-bye.”

  Spike barked again and whined.

  Minky took Orlando’s hand and they started down the steps.

  Spike sat down and looked up at me.

  “Well?” I asked, meeting his inquiring gaze. “It’s your choice.”

  Spike gave a bodily quiver and whined again.

  “I love you.”

  He said he loved me, too. But life was too quiet with me, and he was needed elsewhere. He had a mission.

  “I know,” I said.

  With one last snarl, Spike said good-bye. Then he bounded down the steps and dashed after Orlando. The boy turned and scooped him up, looking at me.

  “Keep him out of trouble,” I called.

  Orlando grinned and waved. Minky blew me a kiss. Spike attacked Orlando’s scarf and didn’t look back.

  I watched them pull away in a long black town car, hugging myself against the cold air. I wasn’t ready to go back inside to the party yet, so I stood alone and listened to the music. I thought about the little boy I’d met just a few days before and how he’d changed, grown, blossomed. My throat ached, and I put my head back to look upward. The night sky was dark, but a few pinpricks of starlight glowed.

  It was enough light to see a tall figure as he came crunching through the snow, carrying a cardboard box under one arm. Michael.

  He said, “Did our baby just run off to join the circus?”

  Shaken, I said, “What?”

  He paused at the bottom of the steps and put the box down. “Spike. He went with Orlando?”

  “Michael,” I said, hardly able to catch my breath. I went down two steps and hugged him around the shoulders. My heart expanded until it hurt.

  He held me for a long time and felt anything but dangerous. He felt like home—warm and difficult and full of trouble, but my home nonetheless. Against my ear, he said, “I think you just declared war on New Zealand.”

  “I was so afraid,” I whispered. “Don’t go away again. I need you here with me.”

  He smoothed my hair away from my face and looked solemnly into my eyes. “I heard what happened. I wish you’d told me more about what was going on. If anyone understands sadists who operate at the highest level, it’s me.”

  “Don’t,” I said. “Let’s not talk about Brinker. I don’t want to talk about the past anymore. I just want a future.”

  “I could have helped you.”

  I smoothed my hand down his cheek and felt the rough prickle of an unshaven face. “All I care about now is that you’re not going to take the blame for Kitty’s death. You’re safe now. We both are.”

  “Nora,” he said. Then he changed his mind. He glanced down at what I was wearing. “You look . . . even more beautiful than ever. What’s different?”

  I laughed unsteadily and posed for inspection. “It’s the Brinker Bra. What do you think?”

  His grin flashed in the starlight. “It makes me want to take it off you, as a matter of fact.”

  “I don’t think it will ever reach stores, though. I might have one of the few Brinker Bras ever made.”

  He grinned and gave the box a kick. “Good thing I picked up a few more.”

  “You did? How in the world . . . ? Wait, did these fall off a truck somewhere?”

  “Something like that. I thought you might want to give them out as party favors.”

  I laughed. “So you’ll come inside? You’ll meet my friends?”

  “Sure. But . . .”

  I smiled at him, then saw something new in his expression. Inside me, a light flickered and died. “What is it?”

  “Nora.” He glanced away from me into the night. “The Keough woman’s murder is solved. But the car theft bust the other night. When the cop was shot . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “He died this afternoon.”

  I felt my head lighten. “Oh, God.”

  Michael came up a step and took my arms in his hands. He held me firmly. “So the cops want to nail the guy who did it.”

  “Of course they do.”

  “I love you,” he said, holding tight. His voice changed. “I love you more than anything. But I’ve got to disappear for a while.”

  The world lurched around us. “Why you? You had nothing to do with the shooting. You were here that night. I’ll tell them. I’ll—”

  “This is something I have to do.”

  “Michael, let the legal system work.”

  “Sometimes you have to go outside the system to make things right.” His touch changed, turning gentler. “While I’m gone, I want you to think about this thing we’ve started.”

  “I don’t have to think about it. I want to be with you. And you want to be with me, too.”

  “It’s not right, though. We both know that. We don’t belong together.”

  I tried kissing him. But he resisted and I backed away. We stood in silence, until I felt the roller coaster give a frightening little wobble at the summit—the warning before the plunge.

  Then the kitchen door banged open behind me, and Libby flew outside, flinging her coat around her shoulders and moving with surprising speed. “You won’t believe it!” she cried.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

  “The police are here! They’re at the front door! They want to arrest me!”

  “For what?”

  My sister buttoned her coat and looked furious. “It was that bartender! He sent the police to arrest me for selling my Potions and Passions merchandise in his stupid bar! Can you believe it? They say I’m a public indecency!”

  “They’re here right now?”

  “Yes, at the front door! Lexie is stalling them. I just managed to get that horrible Brinker Bra off—with Perry’s expert help—and the next thing I know someone’s pounding on the bathroom door telling me that—”

  “Come on,” Michael said, smiling. “I’ll take you somewhere.”

  “Oh, you’re so kind. I’ll never live it down if I’m arrested!” My sister hurtled down the stairs, headed for the sidewalk in full flight. “Nora, take care of my children!”

  Michael lingered on the porch for a moment. “Here.” He handed me his handkerchief. “Dry your eyes. Take the box inside. See if you can bribe the cops with some Brinker Bras. Keep them inside so Bonnie and Clyde can make a clean getaway.”

  I balled up the handkerchief and caught Michael’s hand as he turned away. “You’ll come back?”

  He kissed me on the mouth, making a promise.

  Libby’s voice floated back to us. “Shouldn’t the police be looking for real criminals?” she demanded. “Honestly! Why are they picking on entrepreneurial women like myself? Are they chasing Donald Trump around for following his passion? Of course not! But put a few amusing sex toys on display and everything goes haywire. Are you coming?”

  “Yes,” said Michael.

  He turned away and went after my sister as Libby plunged into the snow.


  “My goodness, we’re going on the run, aren’t we?” Libby gushed, taking Michael’s arm. “We’ll be fugitives together! Oh, my God. Well, it will be a good chance to get to know each other better. Do you think I should have a disguise to avoid detection? It might be a good time for a makeover. I’ve been thinking of going blond anyway. What do you think? Maybe a few highlights at least?”

  I could hear Libby chattering long after the darkness closed around them. “I just don’t think law enforcement officers have confidence in their own sexual authority. Why else would they need guns? And those powerful cars? Now, aren’t those phallic substitutes?”

  Michael made a reply, but I couldn’t hear him.

  “Exactly!” Libby cried. “Would you like to see one of my catalogs? I’d love to hear your opinion.”

  A minute later, the kitchen door opened again and Richard stepped outside. “You okay?”

  He hesitated when I didn’t answer, then came slowly to the edge of the porch and leaned on his cane. At our feet lay the cardboard carton Michael had brought. “What’s in the box?”

  When I didn’t answer, he knelt down and opened it. “Oh-ho,” he said, bringing out a Brinker Bra. “Stolen goods?”

  I tried to dry my face with Michael’s handkerchief, but something scratched my cheek. I realized the fabric was tied up around something hard. I unfastened the corners with shaking fingers.

  A ring fell out into my palm. A diamond ring with a stone the size of Newark, New Jersey.

  “Whoa,” said Richard. “That’s got to be a fake, right?”

  Inside the house, I could hear my guests. They were chanting, counting down the last ten seconds before the New Year began. I slipped the ring on my finger.

  Richard stood up just as the piano began to bang out “Auld Lang Syne.” We could hear singing, and people blew silly horns.

  Beside me, Richard said, “Nora? Can I wish you a happy New Year?”

  I let him kiss me. I slipped my arms around his neck and allowed Richard to pull me snug against his body. But I felt nothing when his mouth touched mine. My hand lay along his shoulder. The diamond on my finger sparkled with starlight.

  Contents

  Chapter 1