Blackbird 10 - A Little Night Murder (23 page)

N
o such luck. Michael was pulling the Escalade through the security gate just as Emma drove into the lane at Blackbird Farm. She scooted her truck under the electronic arm before it came down, and we followed the Escalade around the house. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a new dent in the big SUV’s rear bumper.

We all arrived at the back of the house and got out of our respective vehicles. Beside the barn sat the car Rawlins was driving these days. The only good news was that Bridget’s convertible was nowhere to be seen. Clouds scudded across the half-moon overhead. There was just enough light for the brothers to recognize each other and take a long moment to plan their respective attacks.

“Oh, hell,” Michael said to Little Frankie. “I thought you went back to Vegas.”

“I misplaced my stake,” his brother said with a grin.

“You mean, you lost it.”

Frankie shrugged. “What does it matter? I need some cash, bro. You ready to pay me back?”

I could see Michael was in no mood for fun. He reached one hand into his pocket and came up with a quarter. He tossed it at Little Frankie, who caught it, turned over the coin and gave it a short inspection.

Michael was just barely holding on to his temper. Something had happened earlier, I could see. Now his brother had turned up unexpectedly. Michael was simmering hot.

Frankie missed all the signs and taunted him. “This must mean you’re a little short, too, Mick. I guess it’s time you found a place for me in the family hierarchy? I need a job—something cushy but lucrative.”

Michael stood a couple of inches taller than his brother. I wasn’t sure which one was older—Michael didn’t like talking with me about his siblings, especially Little Frankie—but I guessed they were born only months apart. Growing up together, they had fought like wolverines. I didn’t see any sign their relationship had improved. Michael’s black eye seemed to give him an additional advantage in the threatening department.

He said, “Go home, Frank. Maybe Mom has some dishes you could wash.”

The loose smile evaporated from Little Frankie’s face. “I saved you when no bank would touch your sorry ass.”

“And they say there’s no more brotherly love.”

“Now you’re sitting pretty. You owe me.”

“Your definition of pretty is faulty.” Except he used a different word.

“Hey,” Emma said.

“And you,” Michael said to her, “should have better taste in men by now.”

I said, “I’m hungry. Is anyone else hungry?”

They ignored me. Little Frankie had gone tense all over. Even his hands were balled into tight fists. He said to Michael, “Tell you
what. I’ll take a piece of Gas N Grub. Seems to me, I’ve got a right to a sizable chunk. Maybe the gasoline trade could use my particular brand of business acumen.”

“Only you could screw up selling gas,” Michael replied.

“Then set me up with a territory I can run the way I want to. My own section of the family store.”

Michael pocketed his keys. “Run along, Frank.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Either you cut me in, or I’m going to Pop.”

“Visiting hours are on Saturdays.” Michael touched my shoulder and turned me toward the house.

“This isn’t over,” Little Frankie said. “You hear me, Mick?”

Michael and I walked the length of the flagstones and went up the porch steps together. I heard Emma say, “Time to go, hotshot.”

“I got rights,” Little Frankie snapped at her. “He owes me, and he knows it.”

I unlocked the back door, and Michael and I went into the kitchen. It smelled deliciously of roast chicken. But I wasn’t hungry anymore. I heard doors slam, and Emma’s truck revved up.

Michael and I faced each other beside the refrigerator. Neither one of us felt like smiling. I said, “He loaned you money to get us stable again. Can you pay him back?”

Michael shook his head. “Not even close. I just committed a quarter of a million dollars for new software.”

“A quarter of a—! Michael, that’s crazy.”

He ran his hand around the back of his head and rubbed it. “Actually, Lexie convinced me it’s a smarter way to go. In three months, the software will earn back what it cost and save me a bundle going forward.”

“Three months is a long time to have your brother breathing down our necks.”

He gathered me close. “My neck,” he corrected.

I laid my cheek against his shirt, glad to hold him, glad to feel his arms around me. “We’re in this together, remember. For better or for worse.”

“I’ll figure out something.”

“Tell me what happened to the Escalade.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. “What?”

“I saw the bumper. There’s a dent that wasn’t there before. What happened?”

He loosened his hold on me. “Minor fender bender. Nothing to worry about.”

We were interrupted by the arrival of Rawlins, who came through the butler’s pantry talking to someone behind him. Michael and I parted in time to see Rawlins holding the hand of his ex-girlfriend Shawna.

I liked Shawna, and we chatted for a few minutes. If she saw something amiss, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she told me she was excited about going back to Harvard in September. But it was clear she and Rawlins wanted to be alone, and maybe Michael and I were subconsciously communicating something was wrong. We thanked them for looking after Noah, and Michael slipped Rawlins some cash—more than a quarter. The teenagers were soon happily dashing down the back steps.

We could have finished our discussion then, but Michael headed for the oven, and I knew I needed time to calm myself, too. I went upstairs to change and check on the baby. Noah was sleeping soundly. I took off my dress and hung it in the closet.

By the time I went back downstairs in my bathrobe, Michael had pulled the chicken out of the oven and was sipping from a glass of wine while putting dinner together. He had fresh-picked green beans in a sauté pan and began slicing chicken off the bone. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Did you make it to that preview thing tonight? I don’t suppose you saw Bridget there?”

“I didn’t see her there, but maybe I missed her.”

“She doesn’t exactly blend into the scenery.”

“True.” I poured myself a glass of milk and sat down at the table. I told him all about
Bluebird of Happiness
and how it was a thinly disguised version of my family’s story.

“Wow,” he said, knife in one hand, dinner momentarily forgotten as I concluded my tale. “Can they legally do that?”

“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.