by Nancy Martin
Rawlins waved from behind the wheel as the minivan spun gravel and roared for the highway.
I went back inside and dialed the number for pizza delivery. As the phone rang, I heard creepy laughter coming from the basement. “Better make it two,” I told the pizza shop.
While waiting for the delivery, I tried telephoning Detective Bloom for the promised talk. He didn’t answer, so I left a voice mail. Then I scrubbed out my sauté pan. Whatever the twins had heated in it, I didn’t want to know. It smelled like eggs left in the sun.
Or the back of Vivian Devine’s truck.
I squirted more detergent into the sink, thinking of the dead animals that Vivian kept covered up in the truck. What was that all about? Why was the sweet old lady who gave out cookies driving around in a Deathmobile?
Thinking about death in general, I segued to the shooting of Michael’s uncle Lou Pescara. It had been a terrible night for Michael, who’d loved his uncle despite the crimes the man had committed.
Eventually my thoughts strayed to my own loss—the baby I’d carried for less than three months before miscarrying on a night that was among the worst of my life. Since then, I’d alternately tried to shove all thoughts of that lost child out of my mind or found myself listening to a whispering inner voice. It had been my fault that the baby died. I should have been more careful. I should have protected my child.
I had long wanted children of my own. The need tugged at my heart so hard it sometimes hurt. It was Michael’s wish, too, to have kids. I knew we were both trying to do the same thing—create a family because the ones we’d been born with hadn’t fit the bill. That desire was perhaps what had first drawn us together. And since then, I often felt as if we kept coming back to each other because a happy future with children was what we both wanted most.
But with Raphael Braga in town, things were even more complicated.
Michael phoned around seven with apologies that he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.
“Are you still with the police?” I sat on my bed, having changed into jeans and a sweater. I pulled my loafers on as we spoke.
“No, they turned me loose about an hour ago. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You talked with Detective Gloom, I hear. Did he ask you for a date?”
I heard the amusement in Michael’s voice. “Detective Bloom was pretty much all business.”
“Did he warn you about me?”
“Yes,” I said. “You’re still America’s Most Wanted.”
“And he’ll never quit hoping he can be the one to send me to jail again.”
My heart contracted. “Michael—”
“Sorry,” he said at once. Then, “He’s got a thing for you.”
“Not anymore.”
“No?”
“Today he seemed more interested in the Devine family.”
“Good thing. His department’s had budget cuts. And his boss doesn’t like him. If he doesn’t take care of business, he might lose his job.”
I said, “Where did you hear that?”
“Around.” Michael had ways of learning inside information that sometimes put Detective Bloom to shame. “He’s got to prove his worth. And fast. So it’s no wonder he’s concentrating on the case. Did he ask you a bunch of questions?”
“About the hand we found? Yes. Did you hear anything about it? Do the police have any theories?”
“Plenty. They all seem to involve a dead movie star. They assume we found what’s left of Penny Devine.”
“Michael,” I said slowly, “when we found her—it—whatever—did you notice any—well, freezer burn?”
A short silence. “You’re kidding, right?”
“It’s just a question the twins asked.”
He laughed. “Consider the source!”
“It got me thinking….”
“Nora, sweetheart, please, this is a case for the police to solve. I think you can safely forget about it, okay?”
“But—”
“Don’t do this to yourself. Let the police take care of it. Hell, you’ll be giving Gloom some job security.”
“I thought I might be helpful.”
“The person you need to help most right now is yourself. Take the night off, why don’t you? Have you had anything to eat?”
I hadn’t been able to choke down the pizza I’d ordered for the twins. “The idea of food isn’t very appealing since our afternoon discovery.”
“I hear you. Well, get into the bathtub and read a book. Relax. I’ll be home soon, but I’ve got some things to take care of first.”
I thought of Ben Bloom’s warning that the Abruzzos were having some family problems. “Anything I should know about?”
“Not unless you’re interested in changing the oil in a couple of cars. I’m sending some vehicles down to the muscle car auction this weekend.”
“That’s what you’re doing? Working on cars?”
“And a few other things. Spending the afternoon with your pal Bloom put me behind the eight ball.”
Michael ran several businesses now, and all of them required his frequent supervision. His chain of gas stations, Gas N Grub, were popping up all over Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware so fast, I couldn’t keep track of them all. But there was always more happening behind the scenes than he wanted to share with me.
“All right,” I said, unwilling to ask more questions. “See you later.”
“Before midnight,” he promised.
I shut off the phone, but it rang in my hand again.
“Sweetie!” Lexie Paine cried when I answered. “Have you had dinner yet? How about a girls’ night out?”
I smiled. Just hearing my dearest friend’s voice was enough to lift my spirits. “I’m babysitting Libby’s twins tonight.”
“Is your life insurance paid up?” She gave a raucous laugh. “Forget that. Listen, I’m in my car,” she reported. “I met with a whole convent of nuns this afternoon, and I’m on my way home. How about I pick up some take-out and stop by your place?”
“Nuns?” I asked. “Lex, have you had a spiritual awakening?”
“I have it every morning when they ring that opening bell at the stock exchange. Can I come over, or not?”
“Of course. Michael’s out, and I can lock the twins in the basement if they make you nervous.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
It was more like half an hour before the headlights of Lexie’s sleek BMW flashed on my kitchen windows. She sailed into the house dressed in red and bearing a pizza box.
“I got the works,” she reported, handing over the warm container. “Even extra cheese because you need to put some meat on those bones, sweetie.”
I kissed her cheek. “You’re so thoughtful. And look—you put on your red dress for the nuns. I take it you weren’t auditioning for a place among them?”
“Not yet. They’re my clients.” She slipped an elegant black coat from around her shoulders and tossed it across the back of a kitchen chair. Her long-sleeved, high-necked dress, the color of claret but beautifully designed to downplay her sex appeal without blotting it out entirely, was a ladylike masterpiece. Her black hair was smoothed into her usual ponytail. Her makeup was light and perfect.
Lexie said, “I manage a stock portfolio for the old dears, and I make a pilgrimage to the convent every six months to report to them.”
“I thought nuns took a vow of poverty.”
“But the church hasn’t. And there’s more money in religion than anything else, darling.”
I had already opened a bottle of pinot gris, and I poured a glass for my friend. “What do nuns invest in? Am I allowed to ask?”
“I’m not allowed to tell. But let’s just say they take a dim view of risk and prefer their chips bright blue. Oh, thanks, sweetie, that’s just what I need. Good Lord!”
She grabbed my hand and stared at the ring on my finger. “My God, is that an ice cube straight from your freezer?”
> “It’s my engagement ring,” I said. “Michael’s idea of a love token.”
“You weren’t wearing it when I saw you on Monday. Did he just propose? Again?”
“We talked it over on our vacation. I haven’t gotten accustomed to wearing it yet.”
“No kidding.” She was still turning my hand this way and that so the facets of the diamond sparkled in the light from the chandelier over our heads. “It must be like carrying around an asteroid on your finger.” She skewered me with a closer look that communicated her true concern for my well-being. “Sweetie, are you happy?”
“Very. I think it’s right for both of us.”
Lexie gave me a swift hug. “I hope so, too, darling. After what you’ve been through, you deserve something truly wonderful.”
My throat closed abruptly as I hugged her back. She had been my best ally from elementary school, through college and during the long, punishing years of my marriage to Todd. Even when he’d hit rock bottom of his drug addiction, she’d stuck by me, helping me cope, allowing me to vent, enabling me to get back on my feet after his death. Most recently, after my miscarriage, she’d finagled two weeks’ worth of time aboard her mother’s yacht for Michael and me. If not for Lexie, I might have lost my mind a dozen times. Someday I planned to do something good for her in return.
“Thanks, Lex. I appreciate your support.”
“Let me guess.” She took the point of my chin in her hand so she could look me square in the eye. “Your sisters disapprove?”
“Libby does. Emma thinks Michael’s risking his life.”
Lexie laughed. “The Blackbird curse, of course! Is Michael worried?”
“Not a bit. But,” I said, “he had a car accident this morning. Not serious, but enough to send him to the hospital for a few stitches.”
My friend linked her arm with mine. “Sweetie, if any man can survive the Blackbird curse, surely it’s Michael Abruzzo. He has more lives than a wily cat, don’t you think? A little fender bender won’t put a dent in your knight’s armor. Wait, you’re not the one who’s worried, are you?”
“No,” I said at once. “Well, not much.”
“Sweetie, that curse is just an old wives’ tale.”
“Right,” I said. “I know that. It’s completely silly. I’ll only make myself crazy thinking about it.”
“That’s the spirit. I’m a firm believer in the positive effects of denial. Let’s have some pizza, shall we? I’m starved.”
“I’ve laid a fire in the library. Want to have our supper there?”
She gathered up the plates and napkins I’d already prepared. “Lead on.”
I’d inherited the whistling caverns of Blackbird Farm when my parents ran off with all the family trust funds they could scare up, and I was still reeling from the winter heating bills. Built over two hundred years ago and added onto whenever one of my ancestors felt the need for a little more elbow room, the house had started out as a pretty good example of grand Georgian architecture, but now resembled the kind of farmhouse typical of Bucks County—a pile of fieldstone that rambled in several directions, all under a leaky slate roof and surrounded by giant oak trees that threatened to crash through the dormers during the slightest thunderstorm.
But the library was positively cozy with its book-lined shelves, a cheerful fire and the comfortable leather furniture that had belonged to my husband years ago. I tossed a newspaper onto the coffee table and put the pizza box on top of it and the bottle of wine within easy reach.
“Tell me more about your nuns.”
Lexie kicked off her shoes and sat on the sofa. “They’re all darlings, of course, but sticklers about their money. They rake me over the coals. They don’t want to support any industry that damages the environment or sends Third World tyrants to drink champagne at the Cannes Film Festival. All very politically correct. I’m always reassuring them that they’re not sending flammable baby pajamas to poor neighborhoods in India.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“You’d be surprised, sweetie.” Lexie slipped open the pizza box and dug in. “I have to spin the truth a bit to keep them happy.”
I sat opposite her in the wing chair and took one sip of wine. “You’re lying to nuns?”
“In business, truth is a matter of perception. If I didn’t bend the facts a little, they’d take their investments down the street to some money-grubbing bastard with fewer principles than I have.”
“Lex,” I said, “you sound like your father.”
She stopped short of taking a bite of pizza. “Lord help me, you’re right. Have I become a stone-cold bitch?”
“Of course not.”
“I need a life, don’t I?” She picked off a mushroom and nibbled it. “Something besides the NASDAQ to give me perspective. I guess that’s you, sweetie. There’s nothing like a good girlfriend to set a person straight.”
“Hm,” I said. Despite the flippancy of her remark, I decided to take it seriously. “Is that why you’re here? To set me straight?”
“Well,” she admitted, “I thought you looked a little wan on Monday. Not like a woman who’d spent two weeks relaxing in the Caribbean sun.”
On Monday, I’d heard Raphael was coming to town. But I said, “The Caribbean was wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered.”
“But?”
“But all good things must come to an end.” I smiled. “Guess who I saw today?”
“Who?”
“Crewe Dearborne.”
She raised a cool eyebrow. “Sweetie, you’re not going to be one of those women who gets engaged and thinks everybody in the world should be similarly delirious with matrimonial joy? It’s so tiresome.”
“He’s crazy about you, Lex.”
“Crewe Dearborne is crazy about food. Now, I appreciate a man who loves his work, but that doesn’t mean I want to throw myself into his arms and discuss china patterns. Have you chosen your china, by the way? I’d love to see Michael in Tiffany’s. Promise you’ll let me tag along to watch.” She took a healthy bite of pizza and dragged a long string of melted cheese away from her mouth with her fingers. “Mmm. Delish. Have a piece.”
“Don’t change the subject,” I said. “Crewe is a kind, thoughtful and intelligent person. I think he has a heart worth exploring.”
“I’ve put away my crampons and my spelunking equipment for good. No exploring for me.”
Lexie had inherited her father’s financial empire at a very young age and managed it with expertise, guts and style, so that it was now one of the most respected in the nation. She was a community leader, the chair of the museum board and a charitable virago. But the sexual abuse she’d experienced at the hands of a cousin when she was a young teenager had scarred her in ways she still hadn’t been able to overcome. She avoided men the way most women avoided saturated fat.
I wanted to help, of course. But I knew better than to force the issue.
So I said, “I saw Crewe at the polo match. And you won’t believe what happened.”
“Tell, tell.”
I described how Michael and I found the severed hand on the grounds of the Devine estate, and Lexie nearly dropped a gooey slice of pizza in her lap.
“You’re kidding!”
I told her about Detective Bloom, Michael’s nonarrest and how I’d spoken with Vivian Devine, too.
“How gruesome!”
“It was pretty shocking,” I admitted.
“When will the police know for sure if it’s Penny’s hand?”
“I don’t know. There’s some kind of strike at the morgue.”
“Surely Penny Devine would get the red-carpet treatment, even in death. I bet they rush the results. That whole suicide disappearance theory didn’t entirely convince the police, right? A lot more people will want to know if she’s really dead or not.”
“What people?”
“Nora, you really must start reading the financial pages. You know about Devine Pharmaceuticals, right?”
She cocked one eye at me. “About their new product?”
“Uh…”
“It’s a new drug for erectile dysfunction. Like Viagra, only it lasts a whole weekend and doesn’t have any side effects. Good grief, every late-night comedian in the country has been talking about it for weeks! It’s called MaxiMan.”
“And it’s a Devine product?”
“Well, yes and no. There are patent issues. Another company came up with something very similar. Lawsuits are flying. Devine is thinking of buying the other company, which would make the patent problem disappear, and MaxiMan could hit a pharmacy near you and make everybody rich right away. But the board of directors of Devine Pharmaceuticals is divided on the buyout subject, because some directors think they can win the lawsuit and take all the prize money for themselves. They’ve been waiting for Penny Devine to reappear so she can break the tie vote. Half the board believes she’s still alive.”
“Penny Devine was on the board of directors? What did she do for the company? Tap-dance on the boardroom table?”
“Even movie stars can serve on corporate boards. It’s her family’s company, and besides, if it hadn’t been for Penny, Devine Pharmaceuticals would have gone bust forty years ago. She used a lot of her Suffer the Storm paycheck to bail out the company.”
“So they put her on the board?”
Lexie laughed. “That’s what makes the world go round, sweetie. She’s probably the youngest person on that board, too. This group is especially geriatric. They all act like electricity is a newfangled invention that can’t be trusted. I know the CEO, and I hear he serves Metamucil at board meetings. Claims it calms everyone down. They have terrible fights.”
“Why doesn’t he ask the troublemakers to resign?”
“Because together they own massive amounts of stock.”
“Like Potty, you mean?”
“He’s the chairman of the board, and the chief nutcase. He throws jelly beans when the fighting starts. With all their squabbling, it’s a wonder a company can function like that in the modern business world.”
“I imagine pharmaceuticals would be a pretty cutting-edge business, too.”
“Yep. New developments happen all the time. Devine must have some really good scientists behind the scenes. Or else they’ve been very, very lucky, considering.”
