by Nancy Martin
“Believe me, I’m going to consult a lawyer. As soon as I can afford one, that is.”
Michael was already thinking ahead. “So this means the daughter wrote the musical, not her famous dad?”
“Right. But somebody killed her before she could launch her career.” After a deep breath to gather my courage to reveal everything, I said, “There’s more, Michael.”
“More what?”
“Let’s have dinner first, and then I’ll tell you.”
Maybe his temper wasn’t yet under control after his brother’s reappearance. His voice turned chilly. “Tell me now.”
I got up from the table and pulled plates from the cupboard, silverware from the drawer. I helped myself to a slice of chicken and plucked a green bean from the hot pan with my fingers. To check if it was done, I bit into the bean and found it delicious, with a hint of butter and garlic.
Continuing to assemble my supper, I said, “Gus offered me a promotion today.”
Michael’s lazy eyes were narrow with suspicion. “If that was good news, you’d be happier about it. What kind of promotion?”
“It’s a good one. Stan Rosenstatz has to retire. Gus wants me to take over as the editor of the Lifestyle section.”
He leaned over and used the knife to spear another slice of chicken and add it to my plate. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch. It’s a good job—better than the one I have, with a raise and everything. For one, it will make things much easier around here when I go back to work after the babies are born. My hours would be more consistent. I wouldn’t have to be out so late at night.”
“You like going to parties,” Michael observed.
I felt my smile waver. “Yes, it’s a good excuse to drink champagne and talk to nice people.”
“But it’s time for a new challenge. Something that lights your fire. I get that.”
“Gus has another agenda. And . . .” I hesitated but knew I had to keep going. “It came up today.” I sat down at the table.
Michael stayed where he was and waited for the other shoe to drop.
I tried not to let his steady gaze unnerve me. I picked up my fork. “You know the Hardwickes are trying to buy more media assets in the U.S. They’re trying to strike a deal with a Philadelphia conglomerate, except the conglomerate is run by a group of local characters who balk at selling to a foreign company.”
“I read about it. Looks to me like old man Hardwicke just needs to offer another billion dollars to the pot.”
Carefully, I said, “Money isn’t the issue holding things up anymore. The sellers are patriotic. Very made-in-America, proud of their heritage. So the Hardwickes felt they needed an American connection to make themselves more appealing to the conglomerate.”
“What kind of connection?”
“A family connection. A personal connection.” Proceeding steadily, I said, “They thought it would be useful if one of the family had an ally in Philadelphia. Someone born here, the birthplace of freedom, that kind of thing.”
“Wait a minute.”
“It sounds completely stupid, the way I’m saying it. With the acquisition in mind, Gus told his father that he’d met someone. That he was engaged to someone who would make the Hardwicke empire more palatable to the seller. The whole family is very excited about this development. They think it’s going to make the deal go through. They’re hoping everyone can be one big happy—”
Darkly, Michael said, “Tell me this scheme has nothing to do with you.”
“I knew nothing about it until today. Will you sit down, please?”
“It’s really you?” His voice had an incredulous edge. “You and Hardwicke?”
“Obviously, it’s not me, because I just learned about it. But—well, yes, Gus has led his family to believe he and I are—that we’re together.”
Michael exploded with a curse and began pacing. “That son of a bitch! He’s been looking for a way to get into your pants ever since he first—”
“He’s not getting into anything of mine,” I said, “so let’s not go there.”
“He wants you to call off our wedding, doesn’t he?”
“I told him that wasn’t going to happen, but—”
“But . . . Are you serious?”
“Let me finish! I don’t care what Gus or his family wants. I’m having nothing to do with their negotiations. I have insisted Gus tell his family the truth.”
Michael laughed shortly and splashed more wine into his glass. “I’m sure he went straight to daddy and came clean.”
“Not yet, but he will, I promise.”
“And our wedding?”
I tried to swallow a bite of my dinner, but it got stuck in my throat. I sipped my milk, but it didn’t help. My stomach felt as if it would reject anything I sent down there, anyway, so I sat up straight and said, “Tell me what happened to the Escalade.”
The question brought him up short. “I already told you. I had a fender bender. Nothing serious.”
“Where?”
“In New Hope.”
“Who hit you?”
“Kid in an SUV.”
“Was it one of the boys who attacked you at the ice cream shop?”
“No. I don’t know. A kid—that’s all I know. He came up behind me at a stoplight, rear-ended me and took off. I got his license number.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Why am I getting the third degree? It was a minor traffic—”
“Were you hurt?”
“Nora—”
“Michael, this week you’ve been shot and punched in the eye and accosted by a boy with a gun, and now somebody has tried to mow you down with a truck—”
“I was winged, not shot. And it was my mother who hit me, nobody dangerous, and the truck thing was only—”
“Don’t shout. Were you hurt?” I asked again.
He rubbed the back of his neck again and didn’t answer.
I wished I could risk drinking a glass of wine. I looked up at the cobwebby chandelier above us. “Emma says I have a weakness for bad boys.”
Low voiced, Michael said, “I’ve been good for you, Nora.”
“What are you doing with Lexie?”
For another uncomfortable second, he didn’t respond. Finally, he said, “I can’t tell you.”
I put my forehead down on the table. It was cool, and the kitchen was quiet. When I was pretty sure I could speak without shouting, I said, “I love you, Michael.” I sat up again. “I want us to have our baby and a lot more after this one. I want you to make a wonderful success of Gas N Grub, and my job—well, whatever it is, I’ll learn to love it.” My voice began to rise again. “But I swear, if you get into trouble with this thing with Lexie, or you get yourself killed and leave me alone with children—”
“I don’t believe this! You’re really thinking of calling off the wedding.”
“I don’t want you hurt!”
“I’m not getting hurt!”
“You’ve done nothing but get hurt for a week! And now there’s a gang of crazy teenagers trying to kill you!”
He drained his glass and set it on the counter. He said, “I’m going for a drive.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. If I don’t, I’m going to say something neither one of us is going to like.” He grabbed his keys.
I got up hastily from the table. “It’s late. Your parole. You have to be home by midnight or—”
He shook his head. “I gotta get out of here.”
“Michael, please. Don’t go. I love you.”
He stopped at the door and turned around. He came back to me, grabbed me around the waist and bent to kiss me on the mouth. It was a hard kiss, not gentle in the least. When he pulled back, his gaze was fiery blue. “I love you back.”
He left.
I tried to eat a few bites of my healthy supper, but eventually I abandoned it on the table and instead dug a carton of ice cream out of the freezer. I used a spoon to eat right out of the carton. I thought about the phone call Michael had made to me just a few nights ago. He had been so happy to remind me that we’d be married on Friday. Now he was crushed, and it was all my fault.
To avoid bursting into tears, I cut the rest of the chicken off the bone and put the fragrant meat into the refrigerator. He’d come home soon, and we’d talk it through, I told myself. I washed the dishes while crunching a Tums. Any minute, he’d be back. He’d walk through the door with a wisecrack about Gus, and we’d make peace. I wiped the counters and poured detergent into the dishwasher. I pushed the “start” button and listened to the water slosh. Eventually, though, I turned off the kitchen lights and went upstairs. I checked on Noah and got ready for bed. I grabbed a book, plumped my pillow and climbed under the sheets to read.
I woke up when Baby Girl did a barrel roll. The book was still in my lap. I reached for Michael, but his side of the bed was cool.
With my heart in my throat, I pulled the clock off my night table. Nearly two in the morning—long past his midnight curfew. I hurried to the window and looked down. The Escalade wasn’t in the backyard. Michael hadn’t come home yet.
I called his cell phone. No answer.
An awful thought sent me plunking down on the bed. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Had Michael gone into the city? Had he gone looking for Gus?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the morning, Noah woke me with a happy yell, and I groggily pulled him out of his crib and changed him. He was delighted to see me but tugged at the bodice of my nightie to see more.
I said, “Are you turning into a bad boy, too?”
We went downstairs, and I sliced him a banana. I tried Michael’s cell while our breakfast cooked. No answer. I wondered if I should call Gus, but I was afraid how that conversation might go.
When the house phone rang, I dashed across the kitchen to grab it.
But it was Libby’s accusatory voice on the line. She said, “I haven’t forgiven you yet.”
“Libby! Are you—? I can’t talk long.”
“Forgive me for interrupting your life,” she said frostily. “Call me back if you ever get a spare minute for your sister.”
“No, wait! I’m sorry. I’m upset this morning. Michael. He—well—”
“Is something wrong?”
I let out a quavering sigh. I knew it was wrong to trouble Libby with my problems, but I said, “We had an argument last night, and he left. He hasn’t come home yet.”
“What kind of argument? About your sex life? Because if that’s the issue, I have a number of books and even a video that—”
“It wasn’t about sex. It was about the curse. The Blackbird curse.”
“What about it?”
I heard myself give a hiccough, and I realized I was fighting back tears again. I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out, “Last week we got a marriage license. We have an appointment with a judge. We’re getting married on Friday, and I even have a dress to wear and everything, but ever since we decided, he’s been having one accident after another and I—I’m afraid something horrible has happened, Libby. He’s badly hurt this time or—or—”
“He’s not dead,” she said with authority. “Calm down.”
“I can’t help it. I’m so worried—”
“I’m coming over right now. Hold on a little longer. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I should have been thrown into a panic. I had stupidly revealed my wedding plan to the one person who could hijack the whole thing and turn it into some kind of spectacle with sword-wielding gladiators and half-naked strippers and trained poodles, for all I knew. But this morning I was strangely comforted that my sister was on her way. Noah watched my face intently, trying to decipher how I was feeling. I didn’t know myself.
The phone rang again, and I grabbed it.
In my ear, Michael said, “I’m allowed one phone call.”
“You’ve been arrested?” I cried—relieved to hear his voice but panicked all over again. And a flicker of anger licked up from inside me, too. “What for?”
“Suspicion of DUI, whatever the hell that is.” He sounded bad tempered. “Ricci stopped me about a mile from the farm. He didn’t even give me a Breathalyzer. Just hauled me in here to cool down, he said.” In a mutter, Michael added, “I had one glass of wine, that’s it. Maybe one and a half. Anyway, I need you to call Cannoli and Sons.”
Michael could have contacted them himself with his one phone call, but he’d chosen to call me instead. That thought gave me some reassurance. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll call them. Are you all right? Were you driving erratically?”
“Ricci seemed to think so.” Michael was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Has Bridget showed up there?”
“Bridget? No, should I be expecting her?”
“I don’t know. They keep asking me about her. More than before.”
“She’s the reason you’ve been arrested?”
“I’m not arrested yet, just being held. Last night they asked me about Bridget and today the questions keep coming, which has me thinking this whole DUI thing is bogus. To get something out of me.”
“You think they want Bridget?” I asked.
“Yeah, definitely. The cops still consider her the big suspect in your murder case.” He blew a sigh and got quiet. The irritation dropped from his voice and Michael said with sincerity, “Sorry, Nora. For a lot of stuff.”
“Me, too,” I said, my heart filling up.
“Is the wedding back on?”
“Brace yourself. I accidentally spilled the beans to Libby.”
“Uh-oh. Has she hired a brass band already?”
“Maybe. Sorry. How long are they going to keep you?”
“I dunno. Call Cannoli, please? We’ll get started on the usual routine. I gotta go.”
We hung up, and I sat down, trembling with relief. Michael hadn’t gone roaring off to murder Gus. Nor had he driven himself into a telephone pole or been accosted by marauding teenage criminals. I was pretty sure Ricci had done me a favor by stopping Michael from whatever he’d stormed off to do last night.
With Noah on my hip, I looked through our collection of refrigerator magnets and found the business card with various numbers for Cannoli and Sons. Some people kept phone numbers for their plumbers or pizza delivery on the fridge, but we had lawyers and a bail bondsman.
To Noah, I said, “Trust me, this is not the kind of life I expected.”
Left-handed, he threw a hunk of banana at the refrigerator.
I held Noah while I called the Cannoli offices. I spoke with Armand, Michael’s good friend among all the Cannolis. He said he’d get right on the case. He sounded annoyingly delighted. He asked after the coming baby, and I told him we were right on schedule. He wished me well, and we hung up.
Libby’s minivan pulled up behind the house. I wasn’t sure whether to be sorry or relieved that I had given her the password to our new security gate.
She blew into the kitchen carrying her son Max. Libby put Max down and enveloped me in a warm hug. “Darling Nora, are you okay?”
“A little better. Michael just called.” My throat contracted, making speech difficult. “He’s been arrested.”
“Arrested!” She held me by my shoulders and looked appalled.
“Not arrested,” I corrected myself, dashing a tear from my cheek. “But he’s with the police, being questioned.”
“Well, that’s a safe place to be, isn’t it? Why, look, it’s Noah!” She smiled brightly into the baby’s face. “Hello, little sweet one. Your cousin Max has come for a play date! And you have no idea how much he’s looking for
ward to meeting someone in this family he can bully.”
I snatched Noah closer. “Max isn’t going to bully Noah.”
“He’s going to try,” Libby predicted.
Max smiled up at me. He was eighteen months old and starting to look like a boy, not a baby anymore. He’d gotten a haircut recently, and it made him look like a tough guy. Except for his dimples. I tried to lean down to give him a kiss, but I couldn’t get past my belly. I settled for ruffling his hair.
Libby watched me. “Are you really okay?”
“I’m getting there,” I said, glad that my voice sounded stronger. “Thank you for coming, Libby. After the way I behaved toward you about Ox, I don’t deserve it. I’m sorry for being such a jerk.”
“Nonsense. We’re all allowed a little slip of sanity now and then. A cutting remark one minute, and you’re forgiven the next. That’s what sisters do.”
Libby was dressed in a tennis skirt and beaded sandals that made her legs look slim and tan and as smooth as if she’d endured a recent waxing as well as time in the tanning booth. Her hair had new highlights. Her bosom was barely contained by a stylish halter top printed with little alligators. A pair of gold bracelets I didn’t recognize jingled on her arm, and a new gold necklace punctuated by tiny gold hearts decorated her neck. In other words, she looked like a Main Line housewife—or an aspiring one. I suppressed the urge to ask if she was already pricing mansions in upscale neighborhoods.
With a gleam in his eyes, Max toddled toward me, his predatory gaze fixed on Noah. Libby made no effort to discourage him.
I retreated around the table with Noah in my arms, but pretty soon Max was chasing us. “Just because Max’s siblings pick on him doesn’t mean we can’t break the chain of behavior.”
“That chain is too strong for me,” Libby said. “I gave up refereeing my children years ago. Is there coffee?”
Over my shoulder, Noah threw a chunk of banana at Max, and it hit him square in the chest. Max wobbled to a halt, astonished.
I said, “You can make a fresh pot, if you like.”
“Maybe I should make some muffins, too. We need to do some carbo loading if we’re going to plan a wedding. That Man of Yours might be with the police, but he’ll surely be out by Friday.” Energized, Libby began bustling around my kitchen. “I presume the guest list is small, since the wedding is happening so soon. Have you booked a restaurant for dinner afterward? Or should we try to throw together something more daring? A champagne picnic would be perfect on a summer evening. Wait—could we commandeer one of those city tour buses? The double-decker kind! Do you think we could get someone to cater on a bus? Oh—and have you made arrangements for music? Because is there anything more romantic than a strolling violinist? I just heard the most wonderful young man playing the violin on the sidewalk out in front of the Ritz-Carlton the other night. We must brainstorm. No idea is too outré at this stage.”
