by A W Hartoin
“She has medication for anxiety. It helped her cope. I think the new husband helped, too.”
Angela twisted her gown. “My sister got married again? Is she happy?”
“As far as I can tell.”
“Where did she see me?” she asked.
“Walking down Rue Cler. They were having lunch in Tribeca.
“How did she recognize me?”
“I think she just saw you and she knew. The way only someone who loves you can. Angela, why would Calpurnia kill you?”
I didn’t know Calpurnia well, but what Angela had done didn’t seem like a reason to kill anyone. She’d suffered enough, in my opinion. The affair with Marius happened pretty much the way I thought. She met him at Panera and he was perfect. He was everything Phillip wasn’t, handsome and charming. He liked what she liked. Phillip mostly watched sports and worked. He barely talked to his wife about anything except the kids, and Marius was interested in her. He liked her. At least, he made a good show of it.
It started innocently enough. He asked about her life and her family. Then he asked about Phillip and his work. Information about the Fibonaccis leaked into their conversation. Angela knew more than Calpurnia or Phillip ever imagined. They’d made the mistake of thinking a stay-at-home mother didn’t have much going on upstairs. Just because Angela was great at raising kids didn’t mean she wasn’t paying attention. Phillip left Fibonacci files open on his home computer. There were files all over the house. He worked wherever he was and never picked up anything. Angela knew what deals were going down, how far the Fibonacci reach was, and their plans for the Bombellis.
Marius got a few salient details out of Angela and that was the thin edge of the wedge. He had enough to blackmail her. If she didn’t provide details of the Fibonaccis’ plans for the Bombellis and whatever else he wanted, he’d tell Phillip about the affair. That Angela could’ve handled and Marius knew it. He’d also go to Calpurnia and tell her what he knew about her operation and where he got it. Angela knew more than enough to realize that that would be it for her and Phillip. People disappeared for less. What would happen to the kids? It was all her fault.
Angela put him off and his threats increased. He showed up at her daughter’s school and gave the child an envelope to give to her mother. When Angela opened it, she made up her mind. She’d go to the Feds and then disappear. Marius had given her newspaper clippings of children who’d been sold into sex trafficking. He had the power and will to do it. She had no choice. She waited until the kids and Phillip were out of the house to go to the Federal Building. The FBI was more than happy to take what she had and disappear her. Phillip made it remarkably easy. She scanned all the documents pertaining to the Bombellis and copied the files off the computer. She kicked off international investigations of not only the Bombellis but of other families. The Fibonaccis were shielded and Calpurnia ended up expanding her family’s influence, but she never knew where her good fortune came from.
When Angela finished her tale, she shrunk down into the bed and gazed at me, her eyes hopeless and now dry. “So she’ll kill me, and probably Phillip, when she figures it out. And Marius is still out there. He was willing to destroy my children before. If he can’t get to me… all this was for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. You took down the Bombellis and a bunch of other nasty bastards.”
Her face hardened. “I was trying to save my family. I failed.”
“Not yet, you haven’t. I have to call Calpurnia. I’ll explain it to her. You were targeted and you sacrificed everything protecting the Fibonaccis.”
“She won’t see it that way.”
“I’ll make sure she does. Calpurnia isn’t unreasonable. Her family came out of this better than they went in. That should buy your lives.”
And end Marius’s.
I called Calpurnia and gave her the abbreviated version of Angela’s story. She wasn’t as surprised as I thought she’d be, so I decided to be blunt. “Are you going to kill them?”
“Who?”
“Angela and Phillip.”
Calpurnia went silent and I started to sweat under Angela’s hopeless gaze.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“I think not,” she said.
“Er…you’re not there?”
“I think that Angela and Phillip will pay in other ways,” said Calpurnia.
The sweating increased. “Oh yeah?”
“Nothing to concern you, Miss Watts.”
“I doubt that,” I said.
She laughed her throaty laugh. “No physical harm will come to them. There will be a change in responsibilities, pay, etc…”
I smiled and nodded at Angela, who didn’t react. “You promise?”
“Are you asking me a favor?”
Ah crap!
“Er…”
Calpurnia laughed again. “A favor isn’t needed. Besides, you already owe me. Gina understands the situation and has agreed to say she hired you. Phillip knows as well as the rest of my people. I’ve never met you, Miss Mercy Watts. You were asked to help Gina by Oz and you felt sorry for Gina. That’s the story and it will not change. I made a mistake with Phillip. I inherited the man from my father and I didn’t question how he handled my business. That’s about to change.”
“So how are they? Phillip and the rest of Angela’s family?” I asked.
Angela sat up, for the first time with hope in her eyes.
“They’re stunned.” Calpurnia chuckled and I heard her uncork a bottle. “I’m not certain what has surprised them more. That Angela is alive or that Gina was right about something.”
“I imagine it’s a combo.” I watched Angela as I spoke and tried to imagine what I would want me to ask if I were her. “Do they…want to see her?”
“Yes, of course. Her parents have already been to see me to ask for my influence to bring her home.”
That was a bit uncomfortable. “You have influence in the government?”
“I have money. It’s the same thing.”
“If she comes back…what about the Bombellis?” I asked.
“Tell Angela that I will take care of it. She needn’t worry. She has my word.”
I thanked Calpurnia, hung up, and told Angela what she said. She began weeping in relief. She would go home. It was only a question of when.
“One more question,” I said.
Angela blew her nose and asked, “What’s left?”
“Why’d you keep Marius’s picture after what he did to you?” I asked.
“I needed a reminder of why I was here and what I’d done, what I’d fallen for.” Angela began another spate of weeping. I patted her shaking shoulder and left.
Aaron stood outside Angela’s door, snarfing on a pastry stuffed with meat.
“Where’d you get that?” I asked.
“Sandrine.”
“The nurse?”
“Yeah.”
Sandrine waved at me from the desk and came around the counter with a determined look on her face.
Ah crap!
“Mademoiselle Watts, you must return to bed,” said Sandrine, grabbing a wheelchair from along the wall.
I held up my hand. “I’m good.”
“The doctor will decide that.”
Malraux and his partner stepped off the elevator. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m not a prisoner,” I said.
“You’re a patient,” said Sandrine, putting the wheelchair behind me.
“Not if I don’t want to be.” I took Aaron’s arm and turned to the stairway door, which promptly opened. Chuck walked out, looking like a suspect who got away with murder. “I thought I’d find you here.”
“I was having a walk.”
“To the jumper’s room,” he said.
Malraux stepped between us. “Mademoiselle Watts, I have more questions.”
“I’m done talking.”
“No, you’re not,” said Chuck, nearly yelling. “What the hell wer
e you thinking?”
I stepped to the right and eyed the stairs. My legs were killing me, but I could still run, if necessary. “I jumped because Angela jumped.”
“Angela?” asked Malraux.
Oops.
“Corinne. Whatever her name is,” I said quickly.
“Is that what our lives are going to be like? Other people jump off a bridge so you jump. What the hell, Mercy?”
Anger came bubbling up inside me like lava. “What the hell yourself. You jumped off the same bridge.”
“I was saving you.”
“I didn’t need saving,” I hissed.
Chuck got in my face. His cheeks were a burnished red and his blue eyes glittered, icy and pale. “The hell you didn’t. Is it going to be like this when we have kids?”
I sucked in an astonished breath. “Kids? Who said anything about kids? Maybe I don’t want kids. Did you ever think of that?”
“Get real. You were made to have kids.”
I poked him in his rock hard chest. “Why? Because I have birthing hips? I’ll kick you so that you can’t give me kids.”
“It’s because you’re so damn maternal!” Chuck yelled.
The detectives and Sandrine all took a step back.
“Are you nuts? I jumped off a damn bridge!”
He grabbed my good arm. “To save somebody. You’re always saving people, taking care of people. This can’t go on. You’re going to get killed.”
“I’m a nurse. Taking care of people is what I do,” I yelled back.
“You’re a mom. You just don’t have a kid yet. You’ve got to stop this and stop keeping secrets.”
I peeled his fingers off my arm. “You should talk, Mr. Arm’s Length.”
Chuck stepped back to get the much needed distance between us as I knew he would. “What?”
“You’ve got secrets. Something happened and you won’t tell me what it was. You barely get near me. You’ll jump off a bridge, but you can’t bear to get in my bed. What’s up with that?”
Chuck glanced at the detectives, who were suitably shocked. Chuck blushed harder. “Nothing happened.”
I put my nose in the air and spun around, going for the elevators. “Okay. Great. Then nothing happened today. I’m going back to Elias’s.”
Malraux chased after me. “Mademoiselle Watts, I’m not done with you yet.”
“Well, I’m done with everything. You’ve gotten all you’re going to get. You have my number. I’m outta here.”
I must’ve looked like I meant it, which I did, because Malraux simply stepped back and let me get on the elevator with Aaron. I turned around and glimpsed Chuck’s face as the doors closed. Distraught was the only word that fit his expression. But in that moment, I didn’t care. I was going to Elias’s to see a black cat that wasn’t there and have a stiff glass of whiskey. I didn’t even like whiskey, so that’s saying something.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Monsieur Barre met us at the door to Elias’s building. I don’t know how he knew I was coming. Maybe Chuck called. But for whatever reason, he was there and in a tizzy. I couldn’t handle tizzy. I really couldn’t. He wanted to know who the woman who jumped was. Was this the case I was working on? How many stitches did I have? Why didn’t I get stitches? Shouldn’t I be in the hospital? The news reports said I was in the hospital. Why wasn’t I in the hospital as reported?
He chased me to the elevator and, despite its tiny dimensions, squeezed right in with Aaron and me.
“Your mother has been calling. Madam Bled is beside herself. Why haven’t you called your godmothers?” he asked, his espresso-scented breath ruffling my hair.
“I didn’t think of it,” I said.
“Do you have your phone?”
“Yes.” I was so tired, I sagged against the gleaming paneling.
“Mademoiselle Watts, you are not well.”
I put my head on Aaron’s shoulder. “I’m fine. I just need peace and quiet.”
“Shall I call your mother and Madam Bled for you?” Monsieur Barre asked.
“Please do. I need a bath and a bed. Tell them I’m completely fine.”
“You’ve been shot.” He pointed at the stiff red spot on my jacket.
“Other than that, I’m fine.”
The elevator dinged and we went to Elias’s apartment. Blackie sat in the entryway, his green eyes glowing in the dim interior. Monsieur Barre bustled in ahead of us and walked right through the cat. It was startling, although I expected it. Aaron did the same and didn’t notice my maneuvering around nothing.
I went straight for the bath. Unfortunately, Monsieur Barre and Aaron followed me in. “What are you doing? Privacy, please.”
“Can you undress by yourself?” asked Monsieur Barre.
“You hungry?” asked Aaron.
“Er…”
Monsieur Barre took charge. He excelled at that. He helped me off with my crusty jacket and informed Aaron that I was indeed hungry and that steak frite was in order.
“And chocolate,” said Aaron.
“Très essentiel.”
I struggled to unbutton my blouse and said, “Steak medium, Aaron.”
“Non, saignant,” said Monsieur Barre. “You need the blood.”
Gag.
“The last thing I want to see is blood. Medium, Aaron,” I said.
“À point,” said Aaron and trotted off.
“No blood,” I called after him and then let Monsieur Barre undress me down to my underwear. I know that sounds creepy, but it wasn’t. He was caring for me and I needed some caring. He was matter of fact, draping my wrecked suit over the chair by the tub and telling me he would be in with hot chocolate directly.
“That’s my favorite,” I said.
“I know.” I stripped the rest of the way and slipped into the steaming tub. Ten minutes later, Monsieur Barre was back with an oversized tray that I’d seen in the kitchen and a pink bowl of hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. He ignored my squeak and attempts to cover myself, fitted the tray onto the tub, and placed the bowl on it with a starched linen napkin.
He watched me with a critical eye as I hunched over so my breasts would be under the tray and took a heavenly sip. I didn’t recognize the chocolate and there was something else that was different.
“What’s in it?” I licked my lips slowly. “It’s…something…I don’t know.”
“Crème d’Isigny. It adds a depth of favor.”
“And you had this stuff on hand.”
“Absolument.”
I took another sip and enjoyed the warmth as it spread down my throat and filled my chest, making me forget my pain, my irritation. Aaron brought me dinner in the tub. The steak was perfect as were the frites. Crispy, perfect potato flavor. I refilled the tub twice and then got out reluctantly, going straight to bed after taking a couple Norcos from my stash.
I dreamt I was in Paris in 1938, being led by the hand through the streets by a man I didn’t know. I saw Stella Bled Lawrence and her husband, Nicky. They sat in a small café, talking with my great-grandparents. Then I was in an antique shop with an obsequious little man, buzzing around and attending customers. Something was familiar about it. The man led me around, having me touch pieces of elegant furniture. I could feel the grain under my fingertips and I smelled something, peach schnapps. I kept asking what I was supposed to find. But the man didn’t answer me and then the schnapps changed to the richer smell of chocolate and melting cream.
I opened my eyes to see Aaron by my bed with a new bowl of hot chocolate and a croissant. Behind him was Blackie, once again watching from the dresser, his tail twitching and coiling around the woman’s portrait. “Is it morning?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Am I going somewhere?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
Aaron shrugged and offered a hand to help me out of the pit. I drank my hot chocolate while he rooted through the wardrobe. He came out with the pink silk dressin
g gown and took my arm out of its sling before he helped me into it.
Aaron poured me a second bowl of hot chocolate and it dawned on me that as small as Elias was, he couldn’t have fit into that dressing gown. The shoulders were way too narrow. I opened both doors of the wardrobe and looked through the clothes. “There are a lot of women’s clothes in here.”
“Yeah,” said Aaron.
“But Elias was supposed to be in love with that prostitute that wouldn’t have him.”
“Yeah.” He refitted my sling and brushed the hair out of my eyes.
I picked up the portrait of the shy woman. I’d assumed she was a Bled, but she didn’t have the look of a Bled now that I was paying attention. Whoever she was, her Edwardian dress was lovely with a high neck and plenty of lace. Not exactly typical dress for a prostitute. “I get the feeling there’s more to that story,” I said, giving Aaron a quick hug and smelling the smell of andouillette. I didn’t even mind.
“Yeah.” He handed me the croissant and left without another word.
I took a bite and let the buttery flakes of crust rain down and get stuck in my cleavage. Normally, that would’ve bothered me, but the day before had been such a disaster, I didn’t mind a bit of mess. I glanced back at the cat before heading to the door. “Are you coming?’
He leapt off the dresser, stretched like a real cat would, and slinked out the door beside me into the hall. I sidestepped to make way for him at the entrance to the living room. I don’t know why. If Aaron and Monsieur Barre could walk through him, presumably I could, too.
“What are you doing?”
I looked up as Blackie brushed by my leg to see Chuck sitting on the Victorian settee directly in front of me. I made sure I didn’t glance at the cat, who’d jumped onto the arm of the settee and began cleaning his rear. “What?” I asked.
He frowned at me, making his bruised face look angry and almost demonic. “You moved aside like there was someone there.”
“There’s no one there.”
“I know that.”
“So are you still pissed at me?” I asked.
