A Motive For Murder (21 page)

“Surely that drives a wedge between Mikey and his
brothers and sister,” Auntie Lil said.

“I’m not sure we should discuss the—” the red-headed
lawyer began.

“Oh, shut up, Harry. Who cares?” Nikki took a healthy
gulp of wine. “It does divide them, but the damage is done. Can you
imagine being a child and worshiping your father? Then one day he
announces that he’s moving to the other side of the country and
taking someone with him—only that someone isn’t you. It’s your
older brother, who is special enough to go with him. I spent the
last two years trying to repair the fallout from that stunt. I’m
almost there. They each have their own friends, school activities,
something they do better than the others. I try to see them as
individuals and I’m succeeding.” She leaned against the sideboard
as she spoke, her small chin pointed out defiantly as if daring
anyone to disagree.

“Does Mikey have any friends?” Auntie Lil asked.

Nikki’s smile was bitter. “Not many, if you mean
friends his own age. He moves around too much for that. And it’s
hard to be sure who really likes him and who is just trying to use
him. That’s always what bothered me the most—the piranhas that swam
around Bobby, hoping to feed: the producers, studio execs, rock
stars, groupies, you name it. Bobby always acted like those people
were the greatest, the warmest, the most loyal of friends. I knew
they were slime.” She stared out the window thoughtfully. “Children
are quite resilient, you know. I’m amazed at how much faster they
can bounce back from trouble than I can. So when Bobby called to
say that Mikey was taking the role in
The Nutcracker
and
that they would be in New York for a couple of months, I hoped that
maybe it would give him enough time to make some friends here and
to get to know his brothers and sister again.”

“Is that why your ex-husband wanted Mikey to dance in
The Nutcracker?”
Auntie Lil asked. “Mikey was doing so well
in the movies. Why take a step backward?”

Nikki’s eyes were unnaturally bright as she stared at
Auntie Lil. “I don’t know why Bobby wanted Mikey to return to New
York,” she said softly. “Maybe Bobby wanted to be near our family.
I like to think that’s part of it. You have to know how my husband
grew up to understand why he became who he was. Bobby’s mother
pushed him constantly as a child. She was frantic to get them out
of Bensonhurst. It worked. She became a legendary stage mother. He
took them out of Queens and into the Promised Land of Los Angeles.
But Bobby never learned to love anyone just for who they were. He
was always looking for what they could do for him. And he never
thought anyone could love him back just for being himself, either.
He kept wanting to know what I wanted of him.” Her eyes filled with
tears. “All I wanted was to love him and he wouldn’t even allow me
that.”

The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken
when Auntie Lil asked gently, “Is it working to have Mikey back in
New York? Is he getting along with his brothers and sister?”

“It’s working. Better than I ever hoped. He’s
becoming part of the family again. He even has a circle of friends
from the Metro, some of the young boys who dance in
The
Nutcracker.
There are times when he acts like a little boy
instead of a star. Those times make me sad, though. I can’t help
thinking of what I’ve missed.”

“I heard you agreed happily with the board’s decision
to replace Mikey in
The Nutcracker.
Why?” Auntie Lil asked.
“Other than the obvious?”

Nikki Morgan answered slowly, as if she were
realizing the truth of her thoughts for the first time as she spoke
them. “Mikey is a child, not a machine. And he was never a good
enough dancer to do that role. They were just using him to sell
tickets. When Bobby died, I decided that no one was ever going to
use Mikey again. No one. Especially me.” She took another sip of
red wine and rolled it around on her tongue, inhaling the flavor
absently and staring into her glass as if secrets lingered there.
“But he’s still in the production.”

“What?” T.S. asked. “But Rudy Vladimir just got
glowing reviews for—”

“Of course he did,” Nikki said. “And he deserves
them. But Mikey begged me to let him stay. He wanted to be near his
new friends. He said they were the only ones he’d ever had. How
could I say no?” Her eyes were pleading as she looked up at them.
“Please don’t tell anyone, but he’s one of the toy soldiers,” she
explained. “He’s always been stiff on stage. Now it works to his
advantage.”

“And no one knows?” Auntie Lil asked.

Nikki shook her head. “Paulette Puccinni knows. And
the other boys. But they protect Mikey. They haven’t told the
press. He slips into the theater and dresses quickly in his costume
each night.” She sighed and finished the last of her wine. “You
mustn’t think I am being disrespectful to Bobby’s memory. It’s just
that I know Mikey and he needs to work to take his mind off what
has happened.”

“How has he reacted to his father’s death?” Auntie
Lil asked.

Nikki shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. He doesn’t let
anything show. Or very little. And he’s been acting for so long
that I can no longer tell what’s genuine and what’s assumed. Except
that ever since Bobby died, Mikey’s been withdrawn and anxious to
be around his family, maybe even afraid that the same thing will
happen to him.”

“What?” Auntie Lil asked. “Have there been
threats?”

The lawyer half rose from the couch, alarmed at the
prospect Nikki waved him back down. “None that I know of. But he
does seem afraid. Afraid and trying hard to hide it.”

“Do you think he’s in danger?” Auntie Lil asked.

Nikki shrugged. “My husband was never one to be
overly concerned about who he did business with. If they had the
money, he’d take it. I have no idea who he was associated with or
of the caliber of his colleagues. I believe it is entirely
possible, indeed probable, that his business affairs had a great
deal to do with his death.” She laughed bitterly. “That or one of
his affairs.”

“Mrs. Morgan,” her lawyer warned, rising from the
couch. “You must not speak about the possible causes of his
death.”

“Oh, sit down, Harry,” she commanded, uncorking the
bottle and pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “Bobby is
dead and I’m not going to say anything that isn’t absolutely true.”
She dared him to protest but he was obviously well versed in her
ways and he sank back down into the overstuffed cushions silently.
It was a gross violation of lawyerly responsibility, and both
Auntie Lil and T.S. wondered simultaneously whether Harry had a
personal stake in Nikki’s happiness.

Nikki turned to Auntie Lil. “My husband was
absolutely incapable of seeing a beautiful woman without making a
play for her,” she explained.

“Lack of self-esteem,” Auntie Lil offered. She was
never shy about her psychological opinions.

“Exactly,” Nikki said. “But think what that did to my
own self-esteem.” She held her glass of wine up to the light and
examined its color in the glow of a lamp. “Just like blood,” she
said, bringing the glass to her lips. “Or maybe Communion.” She
fell silent for a moment, lost in memories, then shook her head and
continued. “l could have dragged a hundred women into the divorce
proceedings. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?” T.S. asked. “It sounds as if he was pretty
nasty to you.”

Nikki looked up. “The children already hated their
father for taking Mikey to California and leaving them behind. I
didn’t want to make it worse. He was their father. So I kept the
other women out of it.”

“Any woman in particular?” Auntie Lil asked.

Nikki shrugged. “Just open the New York City phone
book and begin with the As. That will give you a start.” She
noticed that her glass was empty and sat it down unsteadily on the
sideboard. “The kids will be home in an hour,” she said.

Harry rose with fresh authority. “I think you should
lie down before they get home, Nikki.” He put his arm around her in
a very unlawyerlike gesture and began to lead her from the living
room, his face softening as he murmured to her under his
breath.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you another question,”
Auntie Lil said as Nikki reached the door to the hall.

Her lawyer looked up in irritation, but Nikki focused
her hazy eyes on Auntie Lil’s face and waited for the question.

“Who inherits your husband’s wealth now that he is
gone?” Auntie Lil asked. “And who gets control of Mikey’s
money?”

“I do,” Nikki explained. “He left me everything, even
though we were already divorced when he made out his last will. And
I get control of Mikey’s trust until he turns twenty-one.” Her eyes
blinked and large tears began to trickle silently down her cheeks.
“He really did love me,” she whispered softly. “He just didn’t know
how to show it.” She moved slowly down the hallway of her cluttered
apartment, helped along by the gentle proddings of her lawyer. She
looked tiny and vulnerable in his massive arms.

 Auntie Lil wanted to spend the night at T.S.’s
apartment, primarily so she could bounce endless and highly
creative theories off T.S. He endured them in typical fashion: he
ignored most of them and watched the nightly news on mute while she
talked. It was much more interesting to fill in his own details
about the endless parade of politicians and criminals passing by on
the television screen anyway.

Just as Auntie Lil was speculating that Nikki
Morgan’s lawyer may have had something to do with the murder, T.S.
caught a glimpse of a familiar face on the screen. A small band of
type at the base of the screen popped up, indicating that the
footage was live.

“Look!” he told Auntie Lil, turning up the volume so
that they could hear. The screen came into better focus. A polished
young newswoman with upswept blond hair and a slight overbite was
staring earnestly into the camera, partially blocking the chaotic
entrance to a police station. Behind her, a haggard-looking Gene
Levitt was being escorted out the front door by a lawyer in an
ill-fitting suit.

“WNBC has just learned from highly placed sources
that a new development in the Bobby Morgan murder may be leading
authorities closer to the killer,” the blonde intoned with
breathless—and well-practiced—excitement. “Witnesses have been
coming and going from Midtown North all day, providing hardworking
detectives with missing pieces to the puzzle.”

One of the puzzle pieces—Gene Levitt—spied the camera
and lost his temper. He rushed toward the newscaster as if he
intended to push her down. His shirt was open, his tie was missing,
and he looked as if he had not slept all week. Just as he reached
the blonde, arms intervened, pulling him away to one side and out
of camera range. His lawyer ran after him, shouting frantically.
Meanwhile the blonde continued her well-rehearsed monologue without
taking the slightest notice of the commotion behind her. She began
to recap the known facts about Bobby Morgan’s death.

“Gene Levitt is just getting released?” Auntie Lil
said. “Two days seems a long time just for questioning.”

“And why do I think that isn’t his usual lawyer?”
T.S. asked. Levitt’s regular lawyer, T.S. knew, would be wearing a
suit that fit. Word must have reached everywhere that the producer
was flat broke.

The blonde had finally worked her way up to her
late-breaking tidbit. “Prior rumors proved unfounded this evening
as a producer embroiled in questionable business deals with the
deceased was released after nearly two days of questioning.
Apparently, attention was deflected from the suspect when a
previously unknown associate of Bobby Morgan’s called the crime
team in charge of the case and revealed details of Morgan’s death
until now known only to the coroner’s office and detectives
assigned to the case. One delighted detective on the case termed
the unexpected event as akin to ‘the bad apple falling right out of
the tree and into our laps.’”

“So much for confidentiality,” T.S. muttered. “And
similes.”

“Although the name of the new suspect is not yet
known, I have been assured that a plainclothes team is bringing him
in right now and we are on the spot to bring you this important
development live.” The blonde’s eyes sparkled with the prospect of
barging in on the bust. T.S. could practically see her calculating
the resulting rise in her ratings.

“Oh, dear,” Auntie Lil said. What sounded
suspiciously like a giggle erupted from her lips. She pointed to
the television.

T.S. stared in disbelief as a crippled Hans Glick was
hustled into camera range by two huge plainclothes detectives.
There was no need for his crutches as each massive detective was
gripping him firmly by an arm and practically lifting him off his
feet. Glick’s wire-rim glasses were askew, his normally impeccable
hair stood on end, and his self-assured face had dissolved into a
flushed and panicked study in frustration.

“Here comes the suspect now!” the newscaster cried,
pouncing on Glick with the swiftness of a cat on a baby
sparrow.

She thrust the microphone in Glick’s face, bumping it
on the tip of his nose. “What is your name, sir?” she shouted above
the commotion.

“Come on, Sally. Knock it off,” one of the detectives
growled, trying to elbow the newscaster away. She held her place
and the detectives were forced to stop and figure out a way around
her.

“Sir! What is your name?” The microphone knocked
Glick on his top lip and he jerked upright, perhaps realizing for
the first time that it was entirely likely that hundreds, maybe
even thousands, of his clients and coworkers were watching the
late-night news and witnessing his humiliating march into police
custody. He ducked his head with the unerring instincts of a
thrice-convicted felon, hiding his face from the prying camera.
Twisting, he attempted to turn his back and his broken foot bumped
the newscaster in the shins.