by Alice Orr
“Memphis didn’t kill that young woman last night. Memphis could never kill anyone. I am absolutely certain of it.”
“How can you be so certain? Did you see what happened?”
Bennett still didn’t face her mother to answer, because Bennett was actually answering the questions Memphis must be thinking but hadn’t yet asked.
“I can be certain because I have seen into his heart,” she said softly and with a tremor in her voice she didn’t try to hide. “There is no murder there.”
Dilys opened her mouth to speak, but Bennett cut her off. She did look Dilys in the face this time.
“This not Mexico, Mother. This is very different from back then. I am a grown woman, and I know my own mind. I need you to trust me now, and I need your help.”
No one spoke for a moment, as if they were all waiting in suspense for the reply, including the woman called upon to make it.
At last, Dilys heaved a sigh. The indignation that had lifted her practically onto her toes seemed to deflate as she took a moment to compose herself into the unflappable woman Bennett had always known her to be.
“What is it you need from me?” Dilys asked.
Bennett restrained the impulse to grab her mother and hug her hard, though Bennett vowed she would do exactly that later when there was time. She no longer cared how lacking in St. Simon decorum such a hug might be.
“I need you to help us get ready for the reception at the Modern tonight,” Bennett said.
Dilys’s facade appeared about to become ruffled once more. “You intend to put in an appearance at the Museum of Modern Art with the police, your father’s private detectives and who knows who else after you? Whatever for?”
“I told you that Memphis didn’t murder Pearlanne Fellows, but someone else did, most likely someone we know.”
“That could not possibly be true,” Dilys protested.
Memphis came forward. He had stepped aside previously, as if hesitant to interfere between mother and daughter even when he was the subject of their conflict.
“I don’t like to contradict you, ma’am,” he said, “but it appears that Bennett could be right.”
“The only way we can prove Memphis isn’t guilty is to find out who is,” Bennett said. “Mother, please help us to do that. I have never in my life needed anything from you as I need this.”
It was her final plea, and she knew it. If her mother refused this, there would be no point in begging her further. Memphis and Bennett would be on their own. She no longer had any doubt to whom her loyalty belonged. She would not desert him, not now, not ever.
“We had best get busy then,” Dilys said, glancing at Memphis’s attire. “We have some making over to do if this young man is to be ready for the Sculpture Garden by this evening.”
Bennett glanced nervously toward Memphis, expecting him to react. He wouldn’t care to be anyone other than himself.
Bennett took his hand. “I did it for you last night,” she said. “Tonight you have to do it for us.”
He hesitated only a moment longer before scooping up the tuxedo bag from the newel post. Dilys swept around them to lead the way up the broad staircase.
“We will begin with your name,” she said, for the first time speaking directly to Memphis without either anger or disdain in her voice. “Do you have any other besides Memphis?”
“Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “My given name is Montgomery. Montgomery Modine.”
“Much better. Much, much better.”
Dilys nodded her approval as they followed her upward. Bennett, meanwhile marveled at this and all the other surprising discoveries she sensed she would be making about the man whose hand she still clasped tightly in her own.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Memphis was surprised at how comfortable he felt in a tuxedo. The black tie was a lot to ask of any man, but he could wear it for a good cause. Nailing whoever killed that girl was good cause enough, especially since he’d tried to kill Bennett, too. That was one thing Memphis would not forgive. When he thought about somebody hurting her, he had to grind his fingernails into his palms to keep from cursing out loud.
This definitely wasn’t a spot where cursing would be okay. He and Dilys St. Simon had come in from the street through revolving doors onto an open space that fronted nearly the width of the museum. Memphis could tell that there hadn’t been much misbehaving here ever. In every direction, there were men in penguin suits and women with rounded hair that wouldn’t have moved a wisp in a windstorm.
After developing their strategy, the three of them had decided that Dilys should bring Memphis in here on her own. His cover wasn’t so likely to get blown that way. Not many people knew Bennett had been snatched, but maybe the wrong ones did. If she showed up now, that might tip their hand too soon. This way, Memphis would be a stranger to everybody, except the guilty parties, at least till he could check out the lay of the land.
Dilys had no trouble getting him past the squad of security people at the door. This was a very top drawer affair, and they weren’t supposed to let anybody in who didn’t have an engraved invitation. Even so, Dilys slipped him in like oil through water. He could see how Bennett came by her talent for getting what she wanted when she wanted it. She had her mother’s smile, too. He recognized that when Dilys beamed up at him as if he were the man of the moment out of all the first-class gents in this crowd.
They stepped into the Sculpture Garden from the foyer. Memphis had to admit this was a great place for a party. They’d set up four musicians playing classical music at one end and food and drinks at the other. In between, pieces of sculpture blended with trees and ivy and stone steps and pathways. Even the wrought-iron chairs and tables suited the simple beauty of the setting to a T.
Bennett had told him how she liked to come here sometimes on a sunny afternoon just because it was so lovely and peaceful. Memphis could understand why she would feel that way. Even with clusters of people all around, there was a feeling of quiet here. For an instant, he wished everyone else would disappear. He and Bennett could sit together under those two gnarly trees with nobody trying to chase them down for anything.
“May I present Mr. Montgomery Modine.”
Dilys’s words pierced the bubble of Memphis’s fantasy like a knife blade. In the next moment, he found himself bowing slightly and smiling in a genteel way he’d never done before. The suit and the surroundings were having their effect on him.
“Of the Atlanta Modines?” a bejeweled matron was asking. “I do believe I recall a line of Montgomerys in that family. And, if I’m not mistaken, young man, I detect a strong resemblance to you.”
Memphis had no idea what to say to that. He was relieved when Dilys stepped in.
“Mr. Modine hails from a branch of that family, to be exact.”
The matron nodded her head approvingly. “Pillars of the Atlanta arts community,” she said.
“That is why Mr. Modine is here tonight,” Dilys said, “to observe our cultural and charitable efforts in person. He has an avid interest in this type of event in particular. Isn’t that true, Monty?”
She beamed up at him again, as if to will the right answer out of him.
“Definitely,” he said, and did some dazzling of his own that made the matron’s head bob and set her jewelry sparkling.
Luckily Dilys guided them away then. He wasn’t sure he was ready for much more than one-word responses just yet.
“Wasn’t that a chance to take?” he asked. “Setting me up with a real family could backfire.”
“If I say you’re one of the Atlanta Modines, no one will question that. In fact, very shortly now this entire gathering will have been apprised of your identity.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. What if they ask me things I can’t answer?”
“In that case, all you need to do is flash your most winsome smile and be evasive. That will put them roundly in their place for being more inquisitive than is acceptabl
e in the reserved Southern society where you were raised.”
“Do you really think I can bring that off?”
Dilys studied him for a moment. “Actually, I believe you can,” she said. She took a commanding grip on his arm and steered them into the gauntlet.
BENNETT MADE HER ENTRANCE, as previously orchestrated, into the museum shop adjacent to the museum foyer and waited there. She wandered among the stacks of art books, occasionally flipping a cover to read the copy on the dust jacket flap. She could hear the faint strains of a string quartet playing Mozart in the Sculpture Garden. She longed to know how Memphis was doing among the creme de la creme of New York society. She wished she could sneak out and have a look, but she had agreed to wait awhile before doing that.
The idea was for Memphis and Dilys to make their entrance and introductions, then blend into the crowd where they could watch the reaction to Bennett’s arrival. That was the first phase of their plan. The second was for Bennett to talk about last night’s murder at the Stuyvesant Club, intimating that she knew who did it and why. They would see what kind of reaction that got and from whom. She had to admit that this was a fairly vague strategy with no guarantee of results. It was, nonetheless, the only strategy they had.
That thought made her all the more restless with waiting, but she had another reason for staying here, as well. At the house, she had stolen a moment to call her brother’s message service. She hoped he would get that message in time to meet her here. Dilys said Forth was very upset when he heard what had happened to Bennett. He made some wild threats about what he would do to Memphis. She wanted to make sure Forth knew the truth before anything unfortunate could happen. Thus, she was both pleased and relieved to see her brother’s blond head hurrying through the revolving door that led into the museum shop from the street.
“Sis,” he called even before he saw her.
He hadn’t called her that since they were children together in day school. That lapse into boyhood sentiment was the only sign he gave of agitation. Otherwise, he looked as perfectly sophisticated and in control as ever. He quickened his step only a little when he saw Bennett waiting for him near a display of art posters. Maybe that was why she didn’t experience the compulsion to lock him in an embrace, as she had earlier with her mother.
“Are you absolutely certain you are all right?” he persisted in response to her assurances. “Where is that monster who absconded with you? I shall tear him limb from limb, I swear.”
Bennett was only mildly surprised that he could say such things and still sound so cool and distant. This was Forth, after all.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she repeated. “Memphis is here at the museum. Mother is introducing him around.”
That did crack the Forth facade some. Bennett had said it so straightforwardly to see if she could get a rise out of her imperturbable brother.
“You must be joking,” he said. “Why would Mother be introducing that man to anybody but the police?”
“I am not joking, and neither is Mother. Memphis didn’t kill that woman last night. As for the kidnapping, he was forced into it when I barged in on him. He never intended to do me any harm, nor would he have.”
“I cannot be hearing this. Do you actually believe these rantings?”
“Yes, I do, and so does Mother.” Bennett added her comment about Dilys even though it might not be entirely true. “We’ve come here tonight to prove we are right.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“We’re going to spread the rumor that we have information about the murder and see what happens.”
“You suspect someone who might be here tonight? Someone from our crowd?”
“We’re quite certain that is precisely who is involved.”
“And, is there any truth in these rumors you intend to spread of having information about the murderer and his or her motives?”
“Quite a lot of truth actually.” Bennett hoped he didn’t ask her to be more specific than that. The thin limb she was out on might snap if he did.
“Absolute insanity,” Forth exclaimed. “I am going to put a stop to this absurd amateur sleuthing right now. You are coming with me.”
He gripped her arm firmly above the elbow and started toward the revolving door onto the street. Bennett was so surprised by his sudden action and its vehemence that she scurried along with him for several steps before mounting a protest.
“Forth, let go of me,” she said, and planted her feet against being compelled to follow any further. He pulled her along anyway.
“I am not about to let you go anywhere,” he said without slackening his pace.
Bennett was suddenly reminded of last night and being dragged through Central Park against her will. She’d had enough of that then. She wasn’t going to put up with any more of it now. She reached out with her free hand and grabbed on to the corner of a display counter. That halted their forward progress for a moment and turned Forth back toward her.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“I’m not going with you,” Bennett insisted, straining against his grip with all her might.
“Yes, you are. This is for your own good.”
Forth pulled hard on her arm.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, but he didn’t stop.
Bennett knew she couldn’t maintain her clutch on the counter’s edge much longer. She had to do something more aggressive than that or Forth was going to drag her out of here. She let go of the counter and latched onto one of the heavy art volumes on top of it.
“Let me go right now or I’ll crack your wrist with this,” she said, brandishing the ponderous book.
Forth stopped still for a moment to stare at her. Bennett stared back. They had played this stare-down game when they were children, and she had always won. She wouldn’t have looked away now if it hadn’t been for a flash of movement at the edge of her vision. That flash was moving toward them from the revolving door and had unmistakably red hair.
“I’ll get her, Stitch,” the redhead named Nick cried out.
It took a moment for Bennett to realize he was speaking to Forth and another moment for Forth to know she had made the connection. In that second moment, his hold on her loosened just enough for her to yank herself out of it and begin to run. She headed toward the side exit from the shop and into the museum foyer as fast as she could go.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Memphis didn’t actually see Bennett first, he saw the reaction to her. He happened to glance in the direction of the wall that separated the Sculpture Garden from the museum and noticed heads pivoting sharply beyond that glass. They were turning to stare at Bennett running along the wide corridor from the foyer to the museum cafe. Memphis started running himself then, parallel to her along the garden side of the glass toward the door into the cafe. He waved and called out to her, but she wasn’t looking in his direction.
He glanced back to find out what she was running from. A blond man Memphis had never seen before had entered the corridor, also at a run. Behind him, still in the foyer, a red-haired man was struggling with two security guards while a third approached to help. Nick was being taken care of as he deserved. Memphis was relieved to see that, until he heard screams loud enough to penetrate the glass wall.
The screams were coming from the corridor where the blond man was still running. People were shrinking out of his path and fleeing from him back toward the foyer. Their movement blocked Memphis’s view of the man until he was near the end of the corridor. Then Memphis saw what had sent the crowd into panic. The man was brandishing a gun. He was pointing it straight at Bennett and shouting. Memphis sprinted the few remaining feet to the cafe door. He barely noticed the havoc of spilled drinks and startled society types he left in his wake. He only cared about getting to Bennett and keeping her from being hurt, whatever the cost.
By the time Memphis made it through the empty cafe, the blond man was chasing Bennett up a flight of stairs at the end of the glass-wall
ed corridor. A sign near the entryway to those stairs read Sette Moma. A menu stand next to the doorway told Memphis this was a restaurant also closed, like the cafe, during tonight’s exclusive event in the Sculpture Garden. A member of the museum’s serving staff emerged from the cafe kitchen and tried to divert him from his mad dash but was swept aside. Nothing was going to keep Memphis from getting to Bennett.
“Hey, buddy,” Memphis shouted when he got to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m the one you should be after, not her.”
He had already figured who this blond guy had to be, and when Memphis heard him shout to get the hell out of here, he was sure. He’d heard that voice enough times on the phone to peg it for Stitch Falcone without a doubt.
“Hey, Falcone,” Memphis called out. “Who are you really, anyway?”
Falcone was halfway up the stairs. Bennett had made it to the top and was about to disappear through the doorway there. Memphis hoped to distract Falcone long enough for her to do just that. Instead, she stopped running and turned back toward the two men below her.
“He’s my brother,” she said.
Memphis heard the heartbreak in her voice and saw it in her eyes. He longed to run to her and take her in his arms and whisper what comfort he could give against the pain she had to be feeling, but he would have to climb over her nogood brother to get to her. Memphis mounted the first step at the bottom of the stairs on his way to doing exactly that.
“I’m her brother, all right,” the man also known as Stitch Falcone said. “Raeburn St. Simon the Fourth. Forth to my friends and family. You should know that name, Modine. One should always know the name of one’s executioner.”
Forth raised the gun and pointed it at Memphis, who was bracing to make a charge, into a hail of bullets if need be.
“Stop, Forth. Please, don’t shoot,” Bennett called out. She had abandoned the doorway and was headed back down the stairs. “You mustn’t hurt him.”
