by Donna Hill
Desiree opened the door of the next available taxi. “Thanks, Allison.”
Allison stepped inside the cab and Desiree got in beside her. “That’s what sorors are for.”
Once settled in the cab, Allison whipped out her ever-ready notebook and a pen. “Do you have a phone number and business address for Hampton, and what about your assistant…Cynthia? I’ll need her information, too.”
Desiree took out her electronic organizer and scrolled through the information until she found Carl’s and Cynthia’s.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Allison said as she took down the information.
“Why do you need Cynthia’s information? You don’t think she’s involved?”
“No one is above suspicion, Desiree. That’s the first thing you learn in this business. As a matter of fact I may give Carly’s husband, Jackson, a call if I hit any roadblocks.”
“Carly’s husband?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention that he’s a private investigator? And a good one, too.” She smiled and patted Desiree’s thigh. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. Hopefully it is as it appears—an accident. But if it’s not we’ll find that out, too.”
Suddenly Desiree’s simple inquiry was taking a dark turn. A shiver ran through her.
* * *
Lincoln checked the time on the dash. Desiree’s train, if it was on time, should have arrived hours earlier. He’d just reached the Holland Tunnel and would be in Manhattan in a matter of minutes. A short hop across town and he should pull up in front of Rachel’s place in another hour.
He laughed to himself. His entire day had been totally on the spur of the moment. Fortunately, so far it had turned out for the best. He hoped the rest of his trip would follow suit.
He had no idea what Desiree would do when she saw him, if she would even let him in. But one thing he was certain of, he was not going back to Sag Harbor until they talked, really talked, and she gave him the answers that he needed.
He exited the Holland Tunnel and headed uptown. He’d know soon enough.
* * *
“Thanks for the lift,” Desiree said, taking her suitcase from the trunk of the cab.
“Anytime.” Allison looked up at Rachel’s building. “Looks like Rachel has done okay for herself, too.”
“That she has. Her business is booming, but it takes her out of town quite a bit. Hopefully we can all get together at some point.”
“I’d really like that. Let’s plan on it. I’d love for you to meet Jacob.”
“Well, I don’t want to hold you.”
“Yeah, I should be getting in. I have a big day tomorrow. I’ll call you and keep you posted on what I find out.”
“Thanks.”
“And remember, if you change your mind and get lonely in this big old house, you can always crash at my place.”
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
Allison reached over and hugged Desiree. “Everything is going to work out fine,” she said, sensing Desiree’s apprehension. “Trust me on that.”
Desiree pressed her lips together and nodded.
Allison got back into the cab and it sped off.
For several moments, Desiree stood on the curb watching the cab until it turned the corner and disappeared. Life is so funny, she thought, picking up her suitcase. First, of all the places to rest her head she wound up at the one owned by her ex-fiancé. Then, during an impromptu train ride, she ran into an old college friend who happened to be an investigative journalist. She supposed that the old saying “your past will always catch up with you” was true.
She turned and walked up the steps to the front door of Rachel’s building. If that old saying was true, what else from her past would come back for a visit?
Chapter 26
Cynthia stepped out of the taxi on Park Avenue and 72nd Street. She looked up at the ornate apartment complex that housed many of New York’s who’s who from rock stars to corporate moguls. The historic building had been the venue for many movies and television programs and it was said to hold long-buried secrets from starlets and politicians who used it for their rendezvous. Cynthia had spent her teen years there, living the privileged life of the wealthy, attending the best schools, meeting the right people. But it was never a life that she aspired to. Unfortunately, it was the bone of contention between her and her mother, one that had severely severed their mother-daughter relationship.
Her mother could never fathom how her daughter could walk away from all that she’d provided for her to live the life she chose to live. And she’d done everything in her power to change that. Including seeing to it that the one person that Cynthia had ever loved was permanently removed from her life. To this day she had not forgiven her mother for that ultimate betrayal and never would.
She walked to the front door and was greeted by Jefferson, the doorman, who had been opening doors for Cynthia for as long as she could remember.
“Ms. Hastings, so good to see you.” He tipped his hat.
“Good to see you, too, Jefferson. How have you been?”
“Can’t complain. Going to visit your mother?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a good daughter. So many children forget all about their parents when they move on with their lives. But not you.” He smiled. “And I know she appreciates it, too, especially with her not being well. You’re all she ever talks about.”
Cynthia’s monthly visits were purely out of a sense of duty, not love, and she wanted to get it over as quickly as possible. She made a show of checking her watch, hoping that Jefferson would get the hint; otherwise he could very well talk to her indefinitely and think nothing of it.
“Let me let you go. You have to excuse an old man. Nothing like talking to a beautiful young woman to brighten the day.”
Cynthia smiled wanly. “You take care, Jefferson.” She walked to the elevator.
“Tell your mother I said hello.”
“I sure will.” She pressed the button and the doors slid open.
“What floor, ma’am?” the attendant asked.
“Thirty-three, please.” She stepped inside, turned and waved at Jefferson just as the doors whooshed closed.
This was one of the few buildings left in the city that still boasted an elevator attendant. Even with all the modern conveniences, it still maintained that old-world flavor. Cynthia had to admit it was a nice touch.
“Thirty-three,” the attendant announced.
“Thank you.” Cynthia reached in her purse, took out two single dollars and pressed them into his gloved hand and walked out.
The heels of her Feragamo lizard pumps sank into the plush cream-colored carpet in the hallway. She took a quick look at herself in one of the gilded mirrors that hung on the wall above a Queen Anne table.
She adjusted her black Caroline Herrera jacket and checked to make sure that the crease in her matching slacks was razor sharp. The simple platinum chain hung precisely in the center of her bare chest as she opted not to wear a blouse. And her Prada handbag was the perfect complement to her shoes.
Cynthia took a deep, cleansing breath. Even now, at the age of thirty, her mother had a way of making her feel like a child. She knew that she would give a personal inspection to every iota of clothing that Cynthia had on, and she wanted her attire to at least be the one thing she and her mother didn’t argue about today.
Satisfied that she’d done all she could short of morphing into someone else, she continued down the hallway and rang the bell to apartment 3300. She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulders and waited, when her heart suddenly knocked hard in her chest. She’d forgotten her earrings.
Her mind raced. She generally kept a spare pair of clip-on
s in her purse. She snapped the lock open, hoping to dig them out before the door opened. If there was any justice in the world, Cynthia thought frantically, maybe Mary the housekeeper would answer and not her mother.
No such luck.
“Cynthia. I knew it was you.” Her mother beamed.
As always, her mother was impeccably dressed as if she were preparing for a cover shoot. Every strand of her silver hair was in place and her jewelry gleamed from her ears, neck and wrist.
“Come in, sweetheart. Mary is in the kitchen fixing a late supper.” Her all-seeing eyes quickly took in her daughter. “I see you forgot your earrings again. What happened to the diamond studs I bought you for Christmas? I don’t understand how you can’t keep up with your things and make yourself presentable when you come out in public. Presentation is everything. If I taught you nothing else I taught you that.”
Cynthia smiled weakly. “Hello, Mother.” Her stomach churned. She never seemed to remember how much she hated this place or hated her mother until she walked through the doors.
“I was in the sitting room,” her mother said in a huff, still miffed about the missing earrings.
Cynthia followed her mother into what she called “the sitting room.” By the average person’s standard it would be considered a one-bedroom apartment. Everything about her mother was big, lavish, larger than life and utterly unnecessary. But you could never tell her mother that.
“Sit down, darling, and tell me what has been going on in your life. I was just watching the news and the most horrific things are happening in the world. It’s all quite awful, one scandal after another. Not to mention terrorists on every street corner, budget deficits, orange alerts, hoodlums infiltrating every neighborhood.” She began to fan herself with her ever-ready handkerchief and continued to ramble on.
She was working herself up into a state, Cynthia quickly realized, while also understanding that her mother was truly uninterested in her daughter’s life. She loved to hear herself talk too much to pay even a modicum of attention to anyone else. It had always been that way. Everyone else put up with it; Cynthia moved out.
Mercifully, Mary entered the room and announced that supper was ready. In their usual ritual they moved to the dining room.
“How are you making out since that awful fire?” Cynthia’s mother questioned as she shook out a linen napkin and placed it on her lap. “I suppose you’ll be looking for another job.” She said the last word as if it were something she could accidentally catch, like a disease. “I didn’t spend all that money on your education, sending you to Europe to study, to work for someone else for the rest of your life,” she went on in disgust.
She raised her salad fork and pointed it at Cynthia. “You know I could simply make a phone call and you could easily be a curator at the National Museum or the Smithsonian or open your own gallery—a real one,” she sniffed.
“I was perfectly happy doing what I was doing, Mother. Something you fail to understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t. You take up this bohemian life, work in the worst section of the city.” She began fanning herself again. “That’s not the life I envisioned for you, Cynthia. Not at all.”
“It seems I’ve never lived up to any of your expectations, Mother. But I’ve gotten used to it by now.”
Her mother flushed a crimson red. “How can someone of your upbringing become accustomed to mediocrity?” She was appalled. “Your father would roll over in his grave if he could see how you turned out.”
Cynthia stood up so abruptly she knocked over her chair in the process. “Daddy was the only one who understood me, who listened, who gave a damn about what I wanted.”
“I will not have you using foul language in my home.” She slammed her palm down on the table, rattling the china. “Is that what that…that woman teaches you in that hellhole she calls a gallery?”
Cynthia jerked back as if slapped. Her chest heaved as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “Don’t you dare talk about Desiree that way. She’s one of the most decent human beings I know. And she lost everything she’d worked for.” She tossed her napkin on the table. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, Mother, since everything in your life has been handed to you on one of your fucking silver platters!” She picked up a dish and tossed it across the room.
Her mother let out such a gasp that Cynthia was certain she was going to have that heart attack she’d been threatening to have for years.
Mary came rushing in. “Is everything all right?” She looked from one outraged face to the other.
“No. Everything is not all right. And never has been,” Cynthia uttered. She tossed her mother a final scathing look. “Enjoy your meal.” With that she grabbed her purse and rushed out of the room before the tears that threatened to overflow betrayed her in front of the one person she vowed never to cry in front of again.
“You’ll need me,” her mother yelled out. “I know you will. You’ll come back.” Her voice broke. “You’ll come back.”
Cynthia ran to the door, bumping into the circular side table and knocking over the little statue that sat on its center. Through sheer force of habit she bent and picked it up, put it back in its place and ran out.
Once on the other side of the door, she leaned against the wall. She was shaking all over. Slowly she pulled herself together and continued down the hall, silently vowing as always that she would not come back.
But she knew she would. That agonized her more than anything.
Chapter 27
Desiree let herself in with the extra key she always kept on her key ring. As soon as she turned on the lights she was surprised to find a huge bouquet of flowers waiting to greet her. She walked over to the table and picked up the card that was tucked in the folds of red, yellow and peach roses.
Just thought I’d send a little something to brighten your day. Make yourself at home and call if you need anything. I can be there on the next flight. Hugs, Rachel.
Desiree slowly shook her head and smiled. Rachel was the best. She must have gotten her assistant to bring them over. And Rachel was right, it was just what she needed.
She took her bags to the back bedroom, intent on settling down. First thing in the morning she was going to get in touch with Carl and find out what was going on. To be truthful she certainly could understand why he was upset. She shouldn’t have run off like that without a word. But that’s why she was back, to make amends and find out the truth.
Desiree took off her blouse, emptied her pockets and placed Allison’s business card on the dresser. She looked at the card. Hopefully Allison’s investigation would turn up nothing out of the ordinary. But what if it did?
She sat down on the side of the bed. Arson was such an ugly idea to try to wrap her mind around. Who could possibly benefit by setting the gallery on fire and nearly killing her in the process? She leaned over and untied her sneakers, placing them by the side of the bed. It didn’t make sense that it would be Carl. He’d invested too much. She couldn’t see that he would have more to gain by destroying the place than by letting her finish her work and have the exhibit. It was all he talked about.
She stood and unzipped her jeans, stepped out of them and tossed them on the bed. It wasn’t as if she had a huge staff of disgruntled employees that would try to get back at her, she thought. That didn’t leave many other alternatives. Unfastening her bra, she opened her suitcase and took out her robe. She slipped her robe on and walked into the bathroom. The bottom line was, she thought, turning on the shower, the most likely suspect, if anyone, was her.
She’d been overworked and exhausted for weeks and must have inadvertently done something that caused the sparks that started the fire. That was the only scenario that made sense, as awful as it was. She stuck her hand under the water to test the temperature just as the doorbell ran
g.
Desiree fastened the belt on her robe. “Who in the world could that be?” she mumbled as she walked toward the door. “It has to be one of Rachel’s eccentric clients.”
She took a look through the peephole and was stunned to see who was on the other side. With some trepidation she turned the locks. She inched the door open and stuck out her head.
“Carl. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been hoping you’d finally come back,” he said. “I’ve, uh…been sitting outside. I saw you when you came in.”
“You’ve been watching the house?” she asked, her voice hitching up a notch.
Carl held up his hand. “Not the way you think, Desiree. We need to talk.” He paused. “Can I come in? Just for a minute.”
Desiree looked over her shoulder as if some unseen force held the answer. She tugged in a deep breath. “All right.” She unhooked the latch and opened the door. “Come in.” She stepped aside and let him in, then closed the door behind him.
She turned to face him and hugged her arms around her body, realizing that she had nothing on beneath her robe. She crossed to the far side of the room.
“First, I want to apologize for not coming to see you in the hospital. It’s just that—”
“There’s no need to apologize, Carl. If I didn’t want to be there, I’m sure others didn’t, either.” She tried to laugh.
He lowered his head and nodded, then looked up at her. “Things are really out of control, Desiree. I’m up to the top of my head with investigators, investors.” He began to pace, then stopped and turned to her. “And I have nothing to tell them.”
Slowly Desiree sat down on an overstuffed chair. “I know I owe you a great deal, Carl, and whatever I need to do to make it up to you I will, no matter how long it takes.”
