Blackbird 10 - A Little Night Murder (24 page)

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?

I
n 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 forward 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.”

I held back a groan. Not only had the nutty wedding ideas started to fly, but she had been at the Ritz-Carlton at night. Probably with Ox.

Libby didn’t notice my consternation and busied herself with the coffeemaker. “If you’re having the wedding in a judge’s chamber, we can’t exactly go all out with decorations. But balloons make a big statement for not a lot of bother. Just pick a color and buy several dozen and—presto! Instant party! But I also love a pretty wedding—pink flowers, children in adorable clothes. Me in a flowing dress. What about a theme? How do you feel about a luau? Is that overdone—or on the cusp of wonderful? I would look great in a grass skirt!”

“Libby—”

“Right, right. First we should discuss the guest list. How many people are we talking? Two dozen or two hundred? I’m sure there are a few people who will be insulted if they’re not invited. For instance, what about his mother?”

I groaned for real. “What about his mother?”

“Do you know she is sleeping in her convertible at the end of your driveway?”

I handed Noah to Libby and went hastily through the butler’s pantry to the front door. I hauled it open and looked outside. Sure enough, the white convertible was parked beside my mailbox.

I went upstairs and pulled on a pair of yoga pants. I grabbed a T-shirt from the collection of Libby’s hand-me-downs. I was getting to the bottom of the pile, so the more objectionable slogans were coming up. This one read
MY OTHER KIDS HOPE THIS ONE’S
A PONY
. I didn’t have time to be choosy and yanked it over my head.

I went down to the kitchen and said to my sister, “Can you look after Noah while I go get Bridget?”

Libby was already ensconced at my table with a cup of coffee and a stack of magazines she must have retrieved from my recycling bin. “Of course. Nora, dear, what would you think of a double wedding?”

I congratulated myself on not screaming. Instead, I put up one finger to delay what was coming next. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

I went out onto the back porch and was confronted by Libby’s eight-year-old daughter, Lucy. She was barefoot and wearing a bathing suit and had an army surplus gas mask over her face. Nothing new, in other words. Her blond curls stuck out from under the straps of the mask. Her knees were covered with Band-Aids, and she held a sparkly magic wand in her hand, gripping it like a sword.

She pulled the gas mask up onto her head and said, “Aunt Nora, can I let Ralphie out to play?”

“When Michael gets back,” I promised. I couldn’t cope with both Lucy
and
a five-hundred-pound pig.

“I need a sworn enemy,” she said very seriously. “Ralphie could be my sworn enemy, couldn’t he?”

“Why do you need a sworn enemy, Luce?”

“I’m a pirate.”

“I see.”

“Is Uncle Mick a pirate? He looks like a pirate.”

She was right. On the other hand, I sensed she was already on her way to developing an attraction to bad boys, too, so I said, “I’ll be back in a minute, Lucy. We need to talk more about pirates.”

“Okay.” She sat down on the top step of the porch to wait.

I plodded my way down to the mailbox. I let myself out the security gate and approached the convertible cautiously. Peeking inside, I saw Bridget sprawled out in the driver’s seat, which was fully reclined. An errant lock of her red hair was curled drunkenly around her nose. She had a snore like a buzz saw.

An empty beer can had been thrown onto the ground beside the car. A lone shoe lay beside the can. I picked up both items and leaned over her.

“Bridget?” I touched her shoulder gently. “Bridget?”

She gave a startled snort and flailed around for a second before grabbing the steering wheel and pulling herself to a sitting position. She wore a white off-the-shoulder sweater that had slipped far enough to show the straps of a lacy purple bra. Her matching purple skirt was hiked up high on her shapely thighs, and her other shoe was where it was supposed to be—on her foot. I noticed her toes were painted hot pink. Her fingernails were freshly done with a coordinating shade. Today she also wore a necklace that featured a
very large diamond set inside two leaping dolphins that created the yin-yang symbol.

I handed her the other shoe and wondered if all her diamonds were gifts from the men with whom she had brief friendships. “Are you okay?” I asked.

She slipped her shoe back on. “Where’s Harvey?”

“Who’s Harvey?”

She yawned. Then, like a sleepy child, she rubbed both her eyes with her fists. When she stopped, she looked like a raccoon with a hangover.

She blinked as if the sunlight pained her. “I can’t remember who Harvey was, but I think maybe I left him at the Best Western. Is there a Starbucks around here? Or is it just cows and pine trees,
Little House on the Prairie
?”

“Pretty much cows and trees,” I agreed. “My sister is making coffee in the kitchen. Would you like to come inside?”

“The sister who’s stealing Oxy away from me?”

“I’m not sure if she’s actually—”

“It’s okay.” Bridget used a button to return her seat to the upright position. “Ox is kind of a snooze. Not my type, except for the audition potential. And he’s the age when a guy starts looking for a nurse who’ll change his diapers when the time comes. I’ve got too much living ahead of me to start down that road. She can have him. You got any Twizzlers?”