The Black Velvet Coat

by Jill G. Hall

  “Hey, you.” Sylvia touched Paul’s back and handed Lucy her lamb. She cuddled up with it on the carpet.

  He took Sylvia’s hands again and stared at her. His kind eyes were the color of a clear mountain sky. She moved forward and held him tight. The familiar scent of his citrus aftershave filled her with relief. She felt safe now.

  Paul pulled back. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Do you think your secretary recognized me?” Sylvia tilted her head toward the door.

  “Not with that haircut.”

  “Hey!” She punched him on the arm.

  He reached for her again then stopped, turned red, and moved behind his desk. It dawned on her for the first time how handsome he was with his trimmed crew cut and clean-shaven face.

  “My God, Sylvia. I’ve been so worried.”

  “I’ve been in Arizona.” She slid into a leather chair across from him while Lucy dropped the lamb and sniffed the perimeter of the room.

  He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”

  “Sorry.” Tears rimmed her eyes.

  “I thought Ricardo had hurt you. Ella was so frantic that she made Milo break his promise, and he told me that he drove you to the depot. The ticket agent informed me where you were headed.” He ran his hand over his crew cut.

  “Are you the one who sent detectives to look for me?” she asked.

  “We assumed you were running from Ricardo, and I wanted to find you before he did. But then his body washed ashore.”

  She gasped and grabbed her amulet. “It did?”

  Paul nodded. “So. What happened? Why did you go?”

  “Just needed time alone.” She didn’t want to confess about the shooting yet. After that, everything between them would change.

  Paul frowned with a crease between his eyes. “But why did you leave without telling me?”

  “I just had to. I had done something horrible.”

  “What could be so bad?”

  Her throat went dry, and she swallowed. “If I tell you, is it private?”

  “That’s right, attorney-client privilege.”

  “Promise you won’t hate me?”

  “I could never do that,” he said gently.

  “Before the engagement party, I tried to break it off, but . . .” She thought she might suffocate and started to cough.

  Paul poured a glass of water from a crystal decanter on the sidebar, handed it to her, and sat in a chair beside her. She took a sip and set the glass on the desk. She held up her palms. “Before the party, he twisted my wrists and threatened to kill me if I didn’t go through with the wedding.”

  “That bastard!” Paul raised his voice.

  She continued, talking fast. “I believed him. Remember, at the party, I tried to talk to you, but he wouldn’t leave us alone?”

  Paul nodded. “I knew something was wrong.”

  “When we pulled away from the St. Francis, he drove like a maniac. I begged him to take me to Bay Breeze, but he refused and sped toward the cottage. I felt certain we were going to fly off the high-cliff drive, until a policeman finally stopped us.”

  Paul pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her tears. “But he only gave Ricardo a warning and left us on the road. I felt ill. Ricardo suggested a walk on the beach. I thought it might sober him up, so I agreed. It didn’t work. He just kept drinking.”

  Paul clenched his fists. “Go on.”

  “He came at me. I thought for sure this time he would overpower me. I warned him, but he wouldn’t stop, so I pulled out the gun.”

  “What gun?” Paul put his hand on Sylvia’s arm.

  “I found it in a drawer at the cottage. I was afraid Ricardo might use it, so I had put it in my coat pocket.”

  “My God!” Paul raised his eyebrows.

  “I pointed the gun at him, but he just kept coming toward me.” She paused. In telling Paul the truth, would he hate her forever?

  “Go on.” He leaned toward her.

  “I shot him.”

  “Jesus!”

  Trembling, she said, “I’ll never forget that look on his face. Never.” She sobbed into her handkerchief. “I stood on the beach and watched as his body washed out to sea.”

  “You poor girl. But I don’t understand. Why did you leave town?”

  “I was confused and scared. I didn’t want to go to jail.”

  “I would never let that happen. You should have come to me.”

  She nodded. “I’m so sorry. I know that now. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You did what you felt you needed to do. I’m just so glad you’re back, safe and sound. It’s all over.”

  She sat up straight. “But I have to tell the police.”

  “No you don’t. They think some bad business acquaintances killed him. The FBI had been investigating his dealings for quite some time.”

  She fingered the amulet. “Really?”

  “Besides the girl in Acapulco, he’d also been suspected of drug sales and perhaps money laundering too.”

  Sylvia looked down. “You must hate me now.”

  Paul stood, pulled her to him, and lifted her chin. “How could I?” He wiped a tear off her cheek with his finger.

  “Still, I need to go to the police.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “But they need to know the truth.”

  “The truth is that he was killed for his evil ways, and that’s what the police think. They haven’t even put much effort into finding whoever shot him. Probably because they believe justice has been done.”

  “But I’m guilty.”

  “Look here.” Paul raised his voice. “It was self-defense.”

  “But . . .”

  “They’ll ask you a lot of questions, and there might even be a trial. Think of the publicity. I can’t let you go through all of that. You’re not strong enough.”

  “I’m stronger now than I’ve ever been before.”

  “I believe it. You’ve been through enough already and don’t deserve to go through all of that too.” Paul took her hand. Lucy scampered over and looked up at Sylvia as if in agreement with Paul.

  47

  Anne had hoped Mr. Block would be in his office or out of the gallery when she dropped off her pieces, but no such luck. He stood at the counter with another man, flipping through a portfolio. Wearing paint-splattered cargo pants, the man scratched his bowling-ball head and gave her the evil eye. “And what kind of work do you do?”

  “This is Anne. She’s the next Man Ray,” Mr. Block smirked. Anne slipped past them to the back of the room and handed her Bubble-Wrapped pieces over to Fay, who stacked them along the wall. “Ignore them,” she whispered, then she grabbed Anne by the arm. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

  The Coffee Cup Café was packed. The top-knotted barista hustled to keep the line moving. Fay and Anne bought their drinks and sat on seats that had been just vacated.

  “Things are really heating up with Sergio, and he’s coming for Christmas.”

  Fay touched her cup against Sylvia’s. “Cheers! Is he staying through New Year’s?”

  “He can only come for four days. It’s a busy time of the year.”

  “Better than nothing.”

  “He’s asked me to meet him in Italy this summer. And I’m going.”

  “Blimey!”

  Anne had woken yesterday morning from a delicious dream, certain it was a sign. She had been riding down the Amalfi coast with him in an Alfa Romeo convertible, her profile classy in a chiffon scarf with lose ends blowing in the breeze. Under a racing cap, he smiled at her and steered the wheel with leather-gloved hands into a driveway of a whitewashed villa with a stunning Mediterranean view.

  When she woke, she had grabbed the Condé Nast Traveler from the coffee table and ripped out the Italian travel pages: hand-painted plates from Siena, a bottle of red wine, a couple walking hand in hand under a bougainvillea-covered trellis.
Her scissors had flown while she cut out the images, then she’d used matte medium to adhere them to paper. She had scribbled on it, Yes, I’ll meet you there, and then had scanned it into her computer and emailed it off to him. Pinning it on the wall above her bed, she hoped it would seep more into her dreams.

  Now she opened her spiral notebook and showed her notes to Fay. “I have a plan: Sell, sell, sell! That’s how I’m going to get to Italy.”

  Fay put two packets of sugar in her tea and stirred. “Sell what?”

  “Everything. All my art supplies, furniture, and Tweety too.”

  “Your auto? You won’t need that much money.”

  “Listen.” Anne put up her hand. “I’m not done. First I’ll sell it all, go to Italy, and then move back home to Oscoda.”

  “That’s not a plan; it’s a retreat!”

  “No it’s not. Life’s much simpler there. I’ll live with my mom. And besides, it’s much closer to New York. I can visit Sergio more often.” Anne licked the whipped cream off her mocha. “Don’t you see I’m meant to go to Italy? I even had a dream about it.”

  “But your dream didn’t tell you to give everything up.”

  “How else could I get the money to go?”

  “Let Sergio pay.”

  “I can’t do that. Yes, I’ll be moving home, but I get to go to Italy first.”

  Fay shook her head. “But I told Mr. Block about your new series, and he’s on the verge of giving you your own show. I thought that was your dream. Not this.”

  “He won’t. You saw how rude he was to me today. I’m tired of waiting around. Tired of having doors closed shut in my face. I’ve been to every gallery in town, and they’ve all rejected my work. I’m tired of not knowing if I’ll have enough to buy food and pay rent.” Anne slammed her notebook closed and pushed it into her pack.

  “I can understand your frustration, but give it a little more time.”

  Anne lifted her chin. “Moving back home is my destiny.”

  “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.”

  “But it’s perfect. I can be an artist there. Even Sergio said that someone is an artist just by picking up a paintbrush.”

  “He didn’t mean for you to move home to do it.”

  Anne’s phone buzzed. “It’s Oscoda. Excuse me. I’d better take it. Pootie?”

  “Hellooo cousin! When are you moving back?”

  Fay swallowed the last of her tea, picked up her purse, and mouthed, “We’ll chat more later.” She stood up and wound her way out of the café.

  Anne waved good bye to Fay and answered Pootie, “Not yet. How are you?”

  Pootie screamed, “I’m getting married!”

  Anne felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “Brian from Heating and Air Conditioning?” She counted backward in her head. “But you’ve only been seeing him a few months.”

  “I know, isn’t it great? I want you to be my maid of honor.”

  “Really?” Anne thought about standing at the altar in an ugly dress staring at Brian.

  “Two weeks.”

  A man in a business suit grabbed Fay’s chair and moved it to the next table.

  “But you always dreamed of a spring wedding on the lake.”

  “It’s a winter wonderland theme,” Pootie yelled. “And if I don’t get married soon, I won’t fit into my mom’s wedding gown!”

  Anne paused, trying to understand, and then she counted back the months again. “You’re having his baby too?”

  “Surely not anyone else’s. Can you believe it?”

  Anne frowned. “Not really.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve heard you have money problems, so my mom is paying for your plane ticket. I really need you to be here with me.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “You can wear that green dress you posted on Facebook awhile back that you like so much. Just think, you’ll be able to spend Christmas here at home.”

  “That would be great but . . . Christmas?” But that was when Sergio was coming to visit.

  “Yes, it’s on Christmas Eve, between services. The church will already be decorated, so we won’t need to do it. I have a special snowflake hat for you . . .”

  “But . . .” Anne couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

  “I can’t wait! I’ll see you then,” Pootie said, and she hung up.

  Stunned, Anne sat back in her chair. She thought for a minute about inviting Sergio to join her in Michigan. But their romance would be the talk of the town, and besides that, she wasn’t ready to introduce him to her crazy feminine family yet. They’d never let her hear the end of it.

  48

  Patricia, I’ll be gone for the rest of the afternoon.” Paul grabbed his hat off a rack. “Cancel my four o’clock and dinner reservations.”

  In the elevator, Lucy squirmed, and Paul set her on the floor. As they rode down in silence, Sylvia felt peaceful having finally confessed to Paul. They crossed the lobby and exited the rotating doors. Lucy sprinted across the sidewalk into traffic.

  Sylvia let out a loud whistle. “Lucy, come!” The puppy turned around and blinked at her as a car honked and skidded to a stop. Sylvia whistled again, and this time, Lucy scurried back toward her. Paul stared at Sylvia in admiration.

  “Snickerdoodle!” Milo stepped onto the curb next to Paul’s Lincoln and scooped up Lucy. “That was a close one.”

  “Milo’s working for you?” Sylvia asked Paul, and she touched the chauffeur’s shoulder to make sure he was really there.

  “With you gone traipsing around the world, I had to have something to do,” Milo laughed.

  “You mean you recognize me?” She turned her head side to side and batted her eyelashes.

  Milo bunched his lips, trying not to laugh. “I’d know you anywhere. Even as a carrottopped cowgirl.”

  “It’s so good to see you.” She smiled at him and slid onto the smooth backseat—very different from Betty Lou’s big truck and her own T-bird.

  Paul climbed in next to her. “Let’s take her home.”

  Milo set Lucy on the seat beside him and drove up and over the hills toward the top of San Francisco. Sylvia could see the Golden Gate, majestic along the sparkling bay, and she sat back, feeling grateful to be home again.

  As they pulled into the circular drive, Milo honked. The birch tree had new leaves, the roses were in bloom, and a blue jay flittered in the birdbath. Had her yard always been this lovely?

  Ella strolled out onto the porch, a hand over her eyes. Sylvia jumped out of the car, let out a big whoop, and ran toward her. With an enormous grin, Ella opened her arms wide. “Welcome home!”

  Sylvia gave her a big hug. “I’ve so missed you.”

  Lucy frolicked around their feet.

  Ella rolled her eyes. “Gentleman. Take that dog for a walk while I get Sylvie settled.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Milo and Paul answered together. The chauffeur hooked Lucy to her leash, and the three of them took off back down the driveway.

  The women headed into the foyer and up the stairs. At the landing, they stopped and stared at the portrait of Sylvia’s mother. She probably had been Sylvia’s age when it had been painted.

  “She was very beautiful.”

  Ella nodded. “That’s for certain.”

  Sylvia touched the amulet. “But she could be mean, huh?”

  Ella sighed. “Quite a temper.”

  “While I was away, I remembered some things from when I was little.” Sylvia touched Ella’s arms. “Thanks for being here for me.”

  “I tried to shield you from her.”

  “Was I a bad girl?”

  Ella linked her arm through Sylvia’s and led her up the rest of the stairs. “You were the sweetest child and still are.”

  “I don’t think she ever really loved me.”

  “She did the best she could.”

  In her room, Sylvia hopped on her canopy bed and admired the hydrangea wallpaper. Ella sat beside her and took her hand
.

  “Why didn’t you ever have any children?” Sylvia asked.

  “God decided not to bless us in that way.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We’re not, because He knows what’s best. Instead he blessed us with you.”

  Sylvia’s eyes filled with tears. “You really feel that way?”

  “Always have and always will.” Ella nodded.

  Sylvia fell into those big wide arms and sobbed.

  “That’s for certain.” Ella handed her a lace hanky. “Couldn’t love you more than if you came from my own body.”

  “Sorry if I caused you any worry.”

  “Never mind about that now. I’m just glad you’re home.”

  Sylvia wiped her eyes and looked around the room. “It’s great to be home. I feel like a changed girl.”

  “You can say that again!” Ella pulled a comb from her apron pocket and tidied Sylvia’s hair.

  “I should have listened to you from the beginning.”

  “That’s for sure!” Ella laughed. “I’m just relieved you realized the truth about Mr. Lorenzo before it was too late.” She shook her head. “Too bad you had to go through all that pain. Guess that’s part of growing up these days.”

  No way could Sylvia ever tell her what really happened. She’d be mortified. “How did you know you loved Milo?”

  Ella crossed her arms and shrugged. “I just felt it in my bones.”

  “What did he say when he asked you to marry him?”

  “Not much. He’d been dragging his feet for a long time. I thought he’d never get on with it, and one day, he noticed Franklin Godswarth eyeing me. Next thing I knew, Milo said, “Miss Ella, it’s time we got hitched.”

  “What did you say?”

  “‘Yes, sir.’ He had been my boss, you know. And I gave him a big smooch that I’d been saving for him for a long time.”

  Sylvia nodded. “But since then you’ve been the boss. Haven’t you?”

  “Not at all! We just try and make each other happy.”

  “Why do you think Mr. Paul never got married? Is it because the right girl never came along?”

  Ella looked at her out of the corner of an eye. “He wouldn’t know the right girl if she ran up and kissed him on the mouth.”

  Sylvia smiled. “Do you think he’ll be a bachelor forever?”